


Criminals and Sinners

by semiiramiis (HikaruAdjani)



Series: The Last Days of Grace [2]
Category: Warcraft III
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 44,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikaruAdjani/pseuds/semiiramiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of The Last Days of Grace</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I am a firm believer that we are all criminals. We've all committed trespasses, minor crimes, against others. We lie, we cheat, and we steal. It is ingrained within us, all tied to the stream of self preservation and selfishness deep in our souls. A precious few of us, and no, I am not truly one of those few, manage to rise beyond this, they shine in spite of their baser natures. Uther had been one, Baudoin is another, and my true blessing in existence has been that I am loved by both. That is how the Light shines in my life.

Truthfully, however, the rank and file criminal harms few, creates little wreck and carnage in their wake. My father was one, untrustworthy, base…given to violent outbursts and greed. But who had he harmed? My mother, certainly. Time and introspection…which I've had plenty of … showed that theirs was a truly loveless and embittered union. He'd harmed me, quick with harsh words and rough hands, worse with his view that I was a waste. So, two. Perhaps he'd harmed the King, by his embezzling, but I doubted that. So… perhaps three. Few, a truly minor offense. In a generation, it would all be forgotten, too petty to merit forgiveness.

And then there are the sinners. Their crimes transcend lying, cheating, mere thievery. Their crimes mar a people for years, generations, harm thousands, destroy entire countries. History marks them as monsters, removes them from their basic humanity, as if that makes them somehow not ours.

"Arthas…what have you done?" It was a phrase I'd heard used before, when it had fallen from Jaina's lips outside of Stratholme. I'd understood what Arthas had done then; I'd been a part of it…but this?

Baudoin glanced at me, a tight line forming between his brows. "Clair." He breathed, wrapping a forearm around my shoulders and resting his chin against my shoulder, trying to shelter me in his bulk. He failed miserably; I had rarely felt less sheltered, less protected…

"How far does it go, Baudoin?" I demanded, and I could feel him tense around me. I had known Lordaeron had fallen, unable to withstand the assault of the plague. I had even known Arthas had murdered his own father to secure her Throne. He'd killed the man I had been blessed to call my father when my own had failed me. He'd destroyed my brethren, the place I belonged. But this… I had spent the past six years either dead, or blindly secure in Icecrown. But now, I was surrounded by whispers that marked Arthas as the monster responsible for this and his followers the ones to put it into action. We had not brought the plague to Lordaeron…

"Shh…Clair. What's done is done." Baudoin murmured against the fine hairs escaping from my braid at the nape of my neck. "We pick up the pieces now…"

"How far." I repeated, and he sighed.

"From here, to the steps of Silvermoon." He finally stated, his voice dead. "Arthas carried it north, into Quel'thalas. From how I understand it, you had died already. But we will reclaim what is ours, Clair. All of what is ours."

All of what was ours… A great deal of what was mine could never be reclaimed. My life… I had not lived or breathed since I had died on the hills over Daggercap Bay. I existed. I walked, spoke, and passed as living…but I knew I was not. There would be no more children for the man who loved me and called me wife. I had lost six years of watching my sons grow and learn. I would never truly be their mother after that. I had lost Uther, lost the security and belonging that the Order had brought me. The Order struggled to rebirth, but Baudoin, once a proud young member, stood behind me too cautious to wear his tabard, his armor. He'd survived the purge, and had lived in hiding since. The Order would never be as bright, as shining, as it had been before. The stench of betrayal clung to it. And still… I loved Arthas.

"We will have Lordaeron back." Baudoin murmured. "A Menethil son on the Throne. We, the Order…will overcome this. You will have your estates back…"

I sighed, turning away from the road and back to the motley caravan we rode with. It was difficult to reconcile 'my estates' with the devastation I comprehended before me. The last time I'd seen them had been in the first few hours of the plague, they'd been whole then. The plague had been running from person to person, a simple illness. Not this… the leaves rotting on the trees, the animals themselves rotting, twisted. Death permeated everything before me… a terrifying, and yet appealing vista. I had hoped that time would fix certain things, time back in a place with life and growth, but it still smothered and pressed on me. That, before me, was calm and serene. Few things there would rise against me… I could go home, just as it was now. It would never be the home of my childhood, row after row of trees… raining petals of pink and white down wide corridors of grass, the buzz of bees a torrent of sound in their leaves. Never would they bow to the weight of great striped apples and golden pears like they had then. The skeps would not ooze honey and the presses ooze juice, the vats would never fill with mead, perry, cider, metheglin, again. The air would not be heady with the brewery smells, but heavy with death. It was beyond tempting, an idea held at bay by only one truth. Lordaeron was meant for my eldest, Anelas…but the estates were meant for my younger son, Baudoin's son Bayard. I would not cheat him of them. He had already been cheated of riding a fat pony down the hallway of trees as I had… I would give his children that back. My oaths held me to uphold Lordaeron, and this rotting blight was not Lordaeron. My oaths held me to uphold the Menethil family, its name disgraced by Arthas, but I was one who knew of the heir to come after him. My oaths held me to uphold the Order, its rebirth a much messier, darker event than its birth had been. Take back Lordaeron, rebuild it…not for myself but for my children. Would that atone for my sins? Lessen the pain of having been a part, however small, of this carnage? Perhaps, and that was the best answer I would ever get.

"You have not spoken of your family." I stated, and Baudoin's stubborn expression turned hunted.

"Why?" He demanded shortly, moving to his horse and making as if he was tending it. It snorted warily at him, a beast barely worthy of the name horse, but it fit with the low profile he had become so good at. His charger could be there at a moment, a bright, shining example of how high the Light held Baudoin Ironfist.

"Because…we're going there." I pointed out the obvious. With the Order coming back into its own, with the purge finally dying, it made no sense to leave the children hidden in Hillsbrad. I may never aspire to be their true mother after abandoning them for as long as I had, but they were still mine. Anelas was the crown heir, Bayard the heir to my family name if not my estates. Even if none of that came to fruition, they were mine, and they deserved better than they were getting. I held Baudoin blameless; his decision to leave them in his parents' care those first weeks after sanity had died had been the only one he could have made. The Order, his entire support structure, had been dying around him… I was gone, following Arthas to my death. My father had been incarcerated, my mother dead from the plague. There had been nowhere else for him to turn, left with the children.

But the Order was back, coming together under royal protection again… They might not be the Menethil family, the family who had ruled and led Lordaeron for generations, but they'd just have to do. Let the Wrynn family, and Stormwind, provide the stable grounds that the Order required to grow again… The Order, Lordaeron, and the Menethil family had stood for them when Stormwind had fallen and they'd come as refugees. Now it was time for repayment. And the reborn Order was where I wanted to see my sons raised into men…

"We will get the children and leave." He muttered, "The less said, the better."

"Eh." I said, neither an agreement nor a disagreement, just an acknowledgement that those words were all the ones I would pry from him. Baudoin could be ox stubborn when he set his mind to it.

I left him stewing, walking back to the campfire. It was foolish to travel this road alone, so said common knowledge. I did not fear the way, but traveling alone would draw attention, riding better mounts would draw attention, and all that left us moving slowly along with this caravan. Surviving the purge had left Baudoin cautious, and I wondered if he even remembered the great glory of pounding down a road at a charger's full speed…

"You should not wander, these lands are dark. Stay close, where we can watch over you." A voice came from the shadows between carts, and I fought a laugh. That line might work on the carter's daughter, who blushed under this one's attention, but it fell desperately short on me.

"I was with my husband." I noted aloud, reining back my first sarcastic response. This one, watch over me? He watched me with the same avidity that he watched everything in a skirt. The fact that I had a husband meant little. "If anyone is bound to watch over me, it should be him."

"A man is no man without a sword." He stepped from the shadows, and I gave him a dubious look, which was all he warranted from me. He did indeed wear a sword, if that was what that could be called…and he wore it with all the ease and ability as my father had on those occasions his manhood had been called to trial… which was to say, none at all. Baudoin had a sword; of course, he was a knight of the Order. Like the charger, it was hidden, because it screamed paladin's blade, hidden as mine was, far from prying eyes. Neither of the blades matched our outward masquerade of simple farmer and wife…

"I have faith in my husband." I stated, narrowing my eyes at him. He played at nobility, but there were only two nobles with this caravan, and he was neither. I was one, and the young man who stared into the wreck of Lordaeron beyond us with the same haunted, yearning eyes that I had was the other. This one, no. He had money, it was obvious, but had not been gently raised. He wore much better clothing than Baudoin, but it was just a tad wrong, too garish, too poorly tailored, and too cheap, to pull off what he tried to.

"Ah, yes… the worthy spouse." He glanced in Baudoin's direction, and I allowed the sneer I felt to cross my face, hidden in my shoulder and the fall of my braid. I'd had the best Lordaeron had to offer, Arthas and Baudoin. I had no intentions of downgrading to this. "Where did you say he was from, again?"

"Hillsbrad." I answered. Hillsbrad, still free of the plague, still growing and living… It had been the breadbasket of Lordaeron once, and was still farms now. It had been far enough from Lordaeron and her shining capital to serve as the area used to base the internment camps which had incarcerated the captured prisoners of the Horde invasion. That remoteness had saved it, so far….

"Ah. Yes. Hillsbrad." He turned the word into an indictment. Farms equaled farm boys grown into farm men, a fairly accurate view of my Baudoin. I grimaced at the words. Baudoin was the Ironfist, blunt, brutal, viciously strong, his namesake hands strengthened by years of farm toil, and then the training of the Order and the struggle thereafter. But they were the same hands which had cradled chicks, newborn lambs, my children, myself…

"Lay a hand on me and I'll kill you for it." I promised, tiring of this. "I've told you no…"

He laughed, his eyes still on Baudoin, and I felt rage stir in my soul. Who was he to laugh at me? I was….

My runeblade perked up at the trail of thoughts, following the intent if not the true meaning. If I raged far enough, it could feed… Baudoin moved around his horse, his chin inclined towards the cart, sensitive enough to feel it awaken. His eyes rose to mine, clear golden brandy, quizzical and wary. I jerked my head at the interloper, and Baudoin's gaze moved over, comprehension dawning on his face.

"The woman is married." He grumbled, his Hillsbrad accent deeper than it had ever been during the time we'd been together. Of course, these were the lands which had sheltered him… "To me. Go chase another."

I fought a chuckle. Baudoin couldn't have seemed less the educated paladin he was if he'd tried. He'd hidden for so long, for so well, he no longer needed to work at it. I, however, could not. He leant on his past, and I had no safe past to lean on. I had been raised as nobility, and nothing had taken it from me.

"If he annoys you, kill him. Let him take you away from the caravan and..."

I grimaced, damn sword. It was difficult enough to do this, to try and seem to be the things I was not, and none of the things I truly was, without its proddings. Just get the boys, and return to the Lodge at Stormwind…

The man looked between the pair of us, Baudoin's doggedly set and possessive stare, and my own unyielding expression, before shrugging and moving away. "Fool." Baudoin muttered, enveloping me in another grasp. "The sword is awake and it speaks…"

"It does." The longer he was with me again, the more perceptive he became. "Tells me to let the man take me far from the caravan, and then get rid of him when he tries what he would be bound to try."

He breathed an almost laugh and I knew what he thought. It would be amusing…but. "Fool." He repeated. "Too used to farm girls, he should know better." He sighed, and I could feel the frown. "When will you need to feed?" He finally gained the courage to ask, and I covered the hand he had resting on my shoulder with my own. He didn't like it, neither did the Order, but there was plenty out there that deserved to die, enough to keep me fed and still doing the work of the Order…

"Not soon." I answered, and it was truthful enough unless I was pushed. If I had to draw upon the power gifted to me, then I would need to feed soon. Of course, if I was forced to display those powers, I would have prey to feed upon.

"And sleep?" He pushed, and I turned my chin to regard him.

"I sleep after I feed." I stated honestly enough. That was the truth, but it hid a great deal. I was afraid to sleep, afraid to feed. Before, when I did, Uther had been there in my dreams, and I had slept peacefully. Now… the one time I had slept since leaving Arthas had been filled with disjointed and dark dreams… The Citadel at its worst, and I could feel Arthas's proximity even though I had not seen him. The point was obvious, I could flee him…but actually getting away from him might be a different matter altogether. He had made me, and I knew he still owned me. Why had he allowed me to leave? Why had he not punished me? The power still flowed, unfettered. I still wore his ring on my finger. I had betrayed him, and he waited…biding his time…for what?

Baudoin sighed, resting his chin on my shoulder and staring down the same road that I did, deep into the death of Lordaeron. "What worries you, my love?" He asked softly, and I turned to rest my cheek against his.

"Why has Arthas not come against me?" I asked, and he stilled. "For I have betrayed him…" And such was unforgivable. "Against us? You? Me?"

"Has anything changed from when you served him?" Baudoin asked, and drew his worn cloak around the pair of us when the death before us breathed cold down the rutted way we stood on. I did not feel it as cold, but I felt the darkness within it, and turned away.

I pondered the question, my shoulder turned into the wind. What was different from then? I still felt the power Arthas had gifted me with. I still felt… secure. The ring still gleamed on my finger, the last true gift I'd received from him before he had ceased to be the Arthas we had all loved. Things moved in the lands around me, things made by Arthas. He knew where I was. He knew I was within reach of them, even if I was not within his bodily grasp. I felt his attention, but it was not fixated. He was as aware of me as he'd always been in those moments that he was not watching me.

"I cannot see into him." I finally admitted. Before, I had been trusted enough to skim his thoughts, his wants, his needs. Now, it was as if he'd pulled a door shut between us... closed, but not slammed.

"That is it?" Baudoin demanded, insinuating his bulk between me and the rising chill which shifted the branches along the way.

"Yes."

"Ah." He murmured, his breath hanging visibly in the air. "So you feel no threat from him?"

"None. He knows I am here, he feels me, but I still feel no threat." Unlike his, my breath did not show. "The night grows bleak."

"It does." He agreed, his eyes moving to the caravan settling down for it. "Death walks close to Hillsbrad. Yet another reason to take the children away. I prefer to not tempt fate."

"I will watch." I promised, and he sighed.

"I wish you would sleep." His voice was hopeless, and I shuddered. "You feel exhausted. You look exhausted. What will it take?"

Safety, as I had felt at the foot of Arthas's bed, the security to allow myself to sleep like that. The liberty to feed until I was sated. The knowledge that sleep did not bring that disorientation and rebuke…

I felt Arthas's sudden, sharp attention on me and I froze in Baudoin's grasp. "Clair." There was no venom in his touch, only a grave intensity. "Do not sleep so close to my enemies and yours. Later, it will be safe to sleep. I promise. But here, now, no. You are within the reach of Sylvanas's subjects."

"What?" Baudoin was still, vibrating as he tried to find the obvious threat.

"Arthas warns me to not sleep here. Sylvanas is no friend of ours." I didn't need a deeper warning than that. There were few I'd rather butt heads with less than that one, especially with no support. I'd be happy to lead any of my brethren against her, either the Order in righteous indignation, or even those who shared undeath with me at Arthas's back. But virtually alone, no.

"True enough." Baudoin agreed slowly. "None of your loyalties would endear her to you or you to her. Perhaps it was not wise to bring you this close to her…."

I frowned. Leaving me at Stormwind might have been wiser, yes, but I would not stand for it. I wanted my sons, as soon possible. I spun away from the road, pulling from the safety of Baudoin's cloak and stalked back to the carts. He merely watched me for a long moment before following me. He sat on a rock beside the fire as darkness grew from the trees, his eyes flicking warily towards the shadows. I crawled beneath our wagon, wrapping up in my bedroll and gave into my usual nocturnal watch. There were things out there I could feel, and turn to my will… those felled by Arthas, and yet mindless. And there were things out there hidden from me, not living, yet not mindless. They were less than I was, but enough of them could tear me apart. The two of us were not nearly enough to stand against them.

I waited; half hoping and half dreading that Arthas would deign to speak to me again. He did not; again I could feel the door closed against me. Baudoin came to my side later, resting his forehead between my shoulder blades and slept a deep and undisturbed sleep. How I envied him for it.


	2. Chapter 2

The farm was just like each one before it, well tended. The only thing that set it apart from the farms I remembered from my childhood was the sentries along the roads as we came in. They raised hands in greeting to Baudoin, driving the slow cart as we separated from the caravan.

I glanced over them, through them. They did not interest me; the only things that would interest me were… My heart clenched at a flash of ruddy gold hair among the dark headed children of Baudoin's family. Anelas. My first born…. I let my eyes devour him as Baudoin went through the necessary greetings with the sentries. He was tall, as I was expecting, and I felt ill as time played tricks with me, and let me glimpse the years before him. No one with eyes would not see the obvious. He had the same long, canny face…beautiful, regal…as Arthas had once possessed. The only difference was the reddish tinge to his hair and his violet eyes, both inherited straight from me.

"Papa!" One of the dark, stocky children bellowed, pushing his way through the mobbing young to charge Baudoin. Bayard. Baudoin slung his substantial weight up easily, while the child grasped around his neck. "You've come home, Papa." There was a wealth of joy competing with an equal depth of recrimination under the sentence and pain flashed across Baudoin's eyes.

"Aye, little one. I have." He sighed. "Kieran."

"Papa." My first born greeted slowly. He had been hidden his entire life under a name that was not truly his, and he did not fit here amongst these bull children. He knew it. They knew it. By now, they and he would be old enough to realize that what was introduced as Baudoin's wife's son was not necessarily Baudoin's son.

"Home again, Baudoin." A woman appeared from the doorway, and Baudoin nodded at her. "And I'm guessing, not home to stay."

Anelas dropped his head, doing his best to hide amongst the children at her words. It was rather like a single gold coin trying to hide in a bag of copper pennies, utterly futile…

I felt Arthas's attention again, pushing to expand and see the world through my eyes, and I considered attempting to deny him. It was fleeting, a split second, until I judged the idea pure foolishness and permitted him entrance. "He is…beautiful." Arthas noted slowly. "As if we could have any other." My eyes moved with a will not mine, resting on the quiet Baudoin and a clinging Bayard. "Claim your children, Clair. Mine. Baudoin's. Take them away from here." The door closed, sharply, but still no slam. It was not as if Arthas's attention had moved away, but that he had turned his back.

The woman's eyes fell on me, and she frowned. "More mouths to feed, Baudoin?" She demanded, and his expression soured, as he closed with Anelas. He smoothed the boy's hair, turning him by his shoulders to face me.

"Nah, Melia. I've come to claim the boys back. You no longer need to concern yourself with such things as feeding them."

I frowned, fighting the first rise of rage in my soul. The years had been harsh, Baudoin had appeared with two children in the most chaotic of times, and it was obvious that this one had not appreciated them… I watched her for a long moment; no…this one had not appreciated Anelas. Bayard was another matter altogether, his paternity painted on him with a broad brush. He was family, the other was an outsider.

"Claim them back?" She hissed, coming into the light. "Just like that? Who's this?" She contemptuously flicked her fingers in my direction, and I contemplated violence. It was a pleasant daydream, no more, not even enough to stir the runeblade from its rest.

"My wife. Clair." He glanced at me. "Clair. My brother's wife, Melia."

Oh, worse. This was no blood of Baudoin's at all. She was merely a peasant, common; her soul waned when I studied it. Beneath my notice, except that she had apparently been entrusted with my children. Baudoin had done his best. I reminded myself…

"The honor is mine." I lied, and her eyes narrowed.

"Honor is yours." She mocked back, and Baudoin's eyes darkened. "My, my. Sound to be quite the…." Her words faded off when a form appeared from the barn. It was Baudoin all over again, only this one was larger, broader than even the Ironfist had managed.

"Did my ears hear, Baud?" The man demanded. "Your wife? Safe? The little ones' mother returns?"

I measured him from Anelas's eyes. Much of the stressed rage and discomfort had faded from his demeanor, he trusted this man, edging towards love. "Barnabas. My wife, Clair. Clair, my brother…Barn."

And he was as big as one… "Again, the honor is mine." I repeated, the regally snide air I'd given the woman bleeding from them. The man stared at me for a long moment, his gaze thwarted by the heavy cloak and hooded mantle I wore. "There are no thanks enough for keeping my sons safe."

"Come inside." He said, shooing the mass of children. "I can't say how wonderful it is to know you're back…." Most the children scattered, except for a stubbornly motionless Anelas, and Bayard attached to Baudoin's side. "Baud becomes stubbornly silent when you're mentioned… But then, Baud becomes that whenever most things are."

"He's a fool." The woman groused, wiping her hands off on her apron. "Too ashamed to speak of things he knows are plain foolishness…"

The wind shifted, and a smell that forever reminded me of my childhood filled the air. Vats and the heady scent of a brewery…

"Here." Baudoin laughed, caught in my memories of a lifetime ago. "Try this. My brother brews it..." Ah, yes, that cherry beer. My gaze dropped to Anelas, his very existence hinged on it.

"Come." Baudoin's brother ignored his wife with the ease of long practice, and she accepted it with equal ease. "Clair, is it? Baudoin would not even give us that much…"

"It's Clair." I agreed, hopping from the cart and crossing to Anelas. He watched me come, warily. "Hello…Kieran." I breathed, kneeling before him. "I know you don't remember me." He could not have. He had been a mere babe, barely able to walk, when I'd dropped him off at Lordaeron's barracks. "But I am Clair. Your mother."

He stared for a long moment, before he reached out and imperiously pushed the hood back. Baudoin's brother drew in a breath, and the woman stepped backwards as my son gazed upon me. "You are very beautiful." He murmured, "You are truly my mother?"

"Yes. I bore you." It had been so long ago. "You have my eyes."

He looked into mine, and then nodded. "So I do." He agreed, calming with that fact. "I…do. Come inside…" He scattered hens with impunity, stalking towards the door and the woman. She stepped aside, and he vanished into the darkness. Bayard watched me in awe, his wide eyes brandy colored and fringed with thick lashes.

"Mama?" He demanded belligerently into the silence of his older brother's passing. "She's my mama?"

"Aye, Bay. She's your mama." Baudoin sighed. "We have her back…." The child pushed off from him and ran towards me, scattering the unlucky birds again. He plowed into my legs, gripping around my thighs and squeezing tight. I smiled, smoothing his hair, and then he was gone, pushed away from me and running after his brother.

"Come…Clair. Where have you traveled from?"

"We came from Stormwind." I said as I followed him, and he flinched. It was a great distance to travel.

"Stormwind?" He echoed, his eyes falling on his younger brother. "Baud?"

"The Order is coming together again." Baudoin stated, his eyes steely and the woman cut off a curse. "Clair and I return to it."

I stepped within, and it was as much the same inside as out. Orderly, clean, plain. Uther would have approved. "Baudoin." His brother mourned, and I turned. "You can't mean that."

The little ones were both seated on the trestles of the table dominating the room, their eyes turned to us. I could feel them stare as I watched their uncle struggle for words. Baudoin's answer was the stubborn silence I knew too well, and obviously they both recognized it too. "Clair…" It was time for another tack, to appeal to the one he wasn't certain would not be swayed. "You mean to take the children to Stormwind. To the Order? Is there something wrong with here? We've…."

Baudoin let go of a half cough, half snarl, and his brother's words faded off. "I had no other choice but to leave the children here." Baudoin ground out, "But in leaving them here, I've done nothing but fight for them. That woman of yours stole from them, from me…"

Fascinating. I watched the interplay, taking a seat between Anelas and Bayard. The elder of them stared at me greedily, while the younger drew my braid through his fingers and studied the color.

"Stole!" She hissed back, and even I would have thought twice before inciting Baudoin in this temper.

"You know exactly what I meant that gold for, Melia." He growled back. "I left coin more than enough for their upkeep, without you deciding that they did not need schooling. There was plenty to pay for their food and such as well as to pay the priests to school them."

"They are farmer's children, Baudoin!" She snapped, and I felt my own expression still to a mirror of Baudoin's outrage.

"They are the children of paladins, both." His voice was cold and still. As usual, he was completely truthful, all three parents involved had been paladins when these two were conceived and born. "They deserve as close to the same upbringing they would have had in the Order. And now they will have it, completely. We intend to take them back to Stormwind and raise them there."

The woman stewed, and Baudoin's brother sighed. "So…" he breathed, sitting directly across from me and staring. "Clair. Where are you from? You don't have a Hillsbrad accent."

"I am from Lordaeron… My family kept lands there… Until the Scourge." That was usually enough to silence even the most curious. Lordaeron… kept in the past tense, and drop the Scourge reference, that deferred the snooping…mostly. No one left living still held lands there.

Barn dropped shadowed brown eyes to the scarred table top. "Losing land is losing the lifeblood of a family." His words mourned, and I watched him. "So your father farmed?"

Hardly. I could feel Baudoin fight a chuckle at that. "No. My father was a brewer." I said, and Baudoin glanced at me in some surprise. My father had been a landed lord, in the king's court…

"I'm a brewer!"

"So I smelled. I've had your cherry beer….once. Baudoin saw fit to share."

And he saw fit to blush in embarrassment at the statement, his eyes on Anelas. "You have no head for it." He muttered, and his brother chuckled.

I shrugged. Even with hindsight, I would not have changed that. "It's all good, Baudoin." I said, and he nodded sharply. "We take the blessings we are given…" I raised my eyes to him. "As Uther once said, 'Had I known, I would have asked.'"

"Aye." He agreed, maneuvering a log onto the fire and staring at the flames. His brother paused for a long moment, digesting the information, before nodding.

"So. Your family brewed…until Lordaeron fell." That was always how those words ended…until Lordaeron fell. "Brewed what? Beer?"

"No. We kept orchards… Cider, mead, perry. My mother had a wonderful metheglin recipe…it was served at the king's table on occasion." It was no act to drop my eyes and bow my shoulders. I had not been over fond of her, but I had still fought to keep her alive. And I had failed. So many were gone… "We were just outside of Brill. I had come home to give birth when the plague started." I gazed at Bayard. The room silenced, only the snap of the newly fed fire disturbed it. "The Light was with us…. I had both children with me there when my mother came home ill, yet neither fell to it."

"But you left them." Both men flinched at her words, and I glanced at the woman before I met Anelas's dark eyes.

"I never meant to." And that was no lie. "I gave them to Baudoin believing that he would keep them only long enough to give me time to do what I needed to do." Also the truth. "I was raised as Uther's daughter. When the purge hit…." I shrugged. When the purge had hit, I had been safely dead in Northrend, but they certainly didn't need to know that. Let them believe that Arthas had been chasing me through Lordaeron…while he had been well aware of exactly where I was. After all, he'd buried me there. "I had to trust in Baudoin." I finished.

"So you knew the Betrayer Prince." There was awe and a current of disbelief in the woman's voice and I studied her. She was fairly safe, there was no point in her past in which she would have seen Arthas, and without that, she probably would not make the leap.

"I knew Arthas Menethil." I stated, and Baudoin shifted in discomfort. He had, as well. "Very well. I served his family, I served his kingdom, and I served him."

"As you still do."

I grimaced against his words, but his attention was fickle and fleeting, he was already gone. He'd left me alone so far, but now… He seemed so close.

"You admit that so easily."

"I am not ashamed of it." I stared back at her. "I served the Order, I served the Menethil family. I served Lordaeron, and I served the Prince. Only the best were called to do so, and I am proud to claim it. Arthas was a man one was proud to know, to call friend. Had things gone as they should have, he would have been a man we would be proud to call king. He was not a monster." Events had made him one, had led him to the point where he ended and the Lich King began.

"No." Baudoin said. "Arthas was no monster. He was a fine man, until he fell…" His eyes rested on me, "And none of us are above the fall."

I wondered if he was speaking of me, Arthas…or himself.


	3. Chapter 3

We ate a spare meal in silence. I could not keep my eyes off the children, and they likewise did not keep their eyes off of me. Bayard wiggled like a puppy, his eyes wide. His brother was more constrained, calm.

We were bedded down on the floor before the fireplace, and I watched the high clouds scuttle across the moon visible through the open shutters while Baudoin fell into an immediate sleep beside me.

"Mama? You're awake." So many times I had dreamed of hearing one of them call me that… Anelas had just been old enough to start. This one had never spoken a word, given away a mere fortnight after his birth. "Why?"

"I'm just… too excited to sleep." I lied gracefully, and Bayard stared at me from the shadows. "Why are you awake?"

"I had a bad dream. Melia doesn't like it if we wake her…" He wiggled his bare toes, and watched me through the comb of his unruly dark hair. I patted the bedroll next to me, on the opposite side of Baudoin and that was all he needed. He curled up next to me, and whether the dream had been real or manufactured, he fell to sleep quickly. It was too easy, pressed between them, to close my own eyes and drift…And once I gave into sleep, it was all too easy for Arthas to snatch me back.

I was on my knees, my forehead resting against the icy floor before him. I could feel the echoing size of the chamber, smell the ice around me. I had never really noticed how much ice, even clean, smelled like blood until that moment… My hair pooled around me, hiding me, but I had the slightest knowledge of his feet on either side of my shoulders. There was a cold weight at the nape of my neck, metallic…sharp…. Frostmourne.

"Clarimonde." He breathed my name, and I fought the urge to cower, to beg. The weight vanished, and I managed a shallow breath. "You have chosen to leave my service." He continued, calmly, and I opened my eyes to stare at the floor.

"Arthas….I….." What? I what? I didn't mean to? I meant to with every fiber of my soul. I had meant to when I did it. And I still did, in spite of the insane urge to start babbling, pleading.

"Stand." There was no request in the word, and I gracelessly scrambled upright. While I had been dressed in a simple flannel dress before, my stockings neatly darned, and worn ribbons in my hair, I appeared here in the finery which Arthas preferred. "My beautiful Clarimonde." He breathed. "My beautiful….silly…..Clarimonde." He dropped a gauntleted hand down on my bare shoulder, just on the edge of harshly. "What do you think you're doing?" He asked, dragging the leading edge of his knuckles down my cheek.

"I return to Baudoin." I stated, and his feline green eyes gleamed with an inner amusement. This mood was never a good one, and I ducked my head. People died when he felt like this…

"Yes, yes." He stated blandly, spinning from me and stalking back to his throne. I felt him sit, and a cautious glance through my hair proved that he had. "You return to Baudoin. To the Order. To your children… to my child." He flicked his fingers thoughtfully. "To follow your oaths."

"Yes."

"That tendency gets you in trouble. It brought you to Stratholme. To Northrend."

"Yes, my prince." That tendency had brought me here, and gotten me killed. "Arthas…" I expected him to silence me, but he did not, and I raised my eyes to his. He watched me from the throne, his fingers steepled in his lap.

"You are in poor shape." He breathed. "You do not feed. You do not sleep. When you served me… You were magnificent. Now… you are a shadow of what you are supposed to be. And you are a blithering fool!" His voice raised, and I dropped my head again. "No." He snarled, and I reflexively brought my eyes back to him. "You are the one permitted to call me by my first name. The one permitted to call me prince while the others call me king. The one permitted to look me in the eyes. You wish to return to Baudoin. To Anelas. To Bayard. Just ask it of me, Clair. Ask it of me!"

"I…." What?

"Do not betray me, Clair. You wish to return to your husband's side. To raise his child…and mine. Ask to leave my side, for awhile, to do just that. Do not betray me, Clair. Do not force my hand. Baudoin is a mortal man, but you are no mortal woman. He will die. Your sons, his and mine, will grow to be adults. And then what?"

And then what? The question I had refused to face before now could not be turned away from. "Arthas…."

"Ask to leave my side for this. If you just ask it of me…"

If I only asked, I could return. I could return if the Order failed to destroy him, if he succeeded in finally destroying the Order. A fall back position, just…in…case….

He stood, crossing back to me, and rested his gauntleted hand on my neck, his fingers at the nape, his thumb over my throat. "Exactly." He breathed, raising glowing green eyes to me. "Do not betray me, Clarimonde De Nemesio."

"Arthas…my prince. Permit me…" I swallowed, and his eyes went triumphant. "To return to my children. To raise ours and my other…. I…" I dropped to my knees, bowing my head. "Beg of you."

He pulled me back to my feet, brushing the weight of my hair back. "Clair. Do not push me again. Do not forget what you are, who you are, and who you belong to. Return to Baudoin, knowing he will be fleeting. Return to the children, who will be likewise. Return to the Order, which thinks it is equal to the task of my destruction…. It is all fleeting, Clarimonde. What is not fleeting is you and I."

"I….understand, my prince." I breathed, and cursed my cowardice. A true paladin of the Order, a true daughter of Uther…

"Would be given the escape of a wondrous death." Arthas noted pensively, spinning away from me and striding back to the throne. "But neither of us has that escape any more, Clair. And until they face immortality as we do, none of them has the right to judge us. Go. Return to Baudoin. Return to your children. Raise our son as a Menethil. Plot and connive to return Lordaeron to him, and your estates to Bayard. And always remember just who that ambition serves…."

"You, my prince." If Arthas could not hold Lordaeron, then his son was his second choice. I still served Lordaeron. I still served the Menethil family. I still served Arthas…. Nothing changed. He turned away again, and I recognized the motion. I had been dismissed.

I woke in confusion, trying to place my surroundings. It was much, much later than it should have been, I could smell the sun warmed air and knew it was afternoon. I stood stretching the kinks out of my body, the motion capturing the attention of the only person in the house.

"Ah. So the lady awakens. Baudoin told me I was to let you sleep your fill."

Of course he had… he would have been relieved to see me sleep at all. And he also wasn't nearby. My gaze flicked around. He was gone. His brother was gone. The eldest two of Baudoin's nephews were gone.

"Where are the men?"

She laughed, coming out of the kitchen. "Chasing bandits. They come down occasionally from the hills. Maybe if Baudoin would settle and stay, we could stop them for once and for all. What's the point of a paladin in the family if all he does is foist children on you, hide in your barn, and come and go as he sees fit? He gets the glory, and we do the paying."

"If I could repay you, I would." I stated. And I also knew it wasn't that simple. As if to prove my thought, she laughed.

"With what? Gold? Baudoin arrived flush with it, more than I'd ever seen before. It's no good if there's no food to buy with it. What we needed was Baudoin here. Baudoin settled down with the woman who has her eye on him, raising those babes, instead of wandering like a tom cat. What with you nowhere to be seen. And I suppose, since you're completely the lady… you have no use?"

I wouldn't quite go that far. My mother had been quite conscientious when it came to my upbringing… I had been destined to run a lord's household. To do so, I needed to be able to do the tasks I would delegate to my servants, so I would know if they were done correctly. "What needs doing?"

She gazed at me warily for a long moment. Obviously she was one of those who believed gently born ladies lolled their days away eating niceties from silver plates while everyone else worked. If it were only so… "Cheese." She stated, and I praised the Light. She happened to pick one of those I was best at. My cheesemaking skills far outstripped my sewing skills.

"Fine." I agreed easily, and she took me back to the cheese shed. "Any particular way?"

She grinned viciously, shaking her head. "No. However it was made at your home."

I nodded, well aware she was hoping I'd fall on my face. If there was a young farm girl in the area with her eyes on my Baudoin, obviously this one found her a better candidate than I was.

I sensed Baudoin's return a little later; felt him in the doorway behind me. "Clair. What…are you doing?"

"Making cheese." It had required raiding the herb drawers, but I could come close to my mother's prized recipe on this as well. She had set tables for the finest of Lordaeron's nobility, for the king himself; she had a multitude of prized recipes only shared with me.

"Cheese." He repeated dumbly, and I chuckled.

"Cheese." I could feel his ire rise, and I glanced back at him. "Baudoin. Did not Uther teach us that there is no dishonor in honest work? If this is the task your sister in law sets me to, then I am content with it."

He bowed his head at my unsubtle rebuke, then nodded. "I came by to make certain you were awake to watch the farm and the children."

"I am awake." I turned my head to study him. He was frustrated, and more than that, he was gaining the sharp focus of righteous fury. Something had gone wrong.

"Are you as capable as you were when you lived?"

"More… but if I am called on to delve into that…."

"If they arrive here, show them no quarter. Do what must be done to protect the children, to protect my brother's wife…to protect yourself. I do not care if the entirety of the foothills realizes your true nature afterwards." He extended his hands; he held the runeblade cautiously, touching only the doe fine black leather of the scabbard. "You may want this."

"So we are not leaving as quickly as you'd hoped?" I took it from him, neither one of them was happy with him carrying it. Our original plans had been to leave as soon as possible…

"No. We are needed here."

I nodded, returning to the cheese press. These were his family; they'd raised my babies when I was dead. If Baudoin asked me to stand for them, then stand I would. He whirled, vanishing out my sight, and was gone. Not long after he was gone, I sensed another arrive, and I peered from the cheese shed. A woman, perhaps a handful of years younger than I was, wearing the same plain dress as I did now. She had thick brown hair and wide brown eyes, pretty now. A few babes later, she'd run to chubby…

"Melia. Where is Baudoin?" She demanded without greeting, and Baudoin's sister in law blinked, pausing before beginning the greeting she was obviously starting on.

"Off playing paladin with the other men. While the chores go undone…. Leaves me his wife, of all things, and tells me she can protect the children. A woman."

"There were women paladins." The stranger didn't sound convinced of that, in spite of her words. "Baudoin told me his wife was one."

I felt a familiar disconnection; the ones I watched were being watched by another… I accepted the information, seeing them through the other eyes. He watched… the young woman first, he'd followed her here. Stupid cow. Then his eyes found Anelas, watching from the porch, and they lingered for a long moment before moving on to the two eldest of Baudoin's nieces. They teetered on the edge of womanhood both, and I picked the runeblade up. Whoever that was wanted things he wasn't allowed to have… I stepped into his view, the blade hidden on my off side from him. He acquired me immediately, his interest piqued. I had been lovely before my death, well born and gently raised, gracefully made. Now I was more. I passed across his field of vision, heading for Anelas.

"Something is wrong." He stated without preamble, and I nodded.

"The woman was followed here." I stated, and he frowned. "I need you to make certain the children do not break and run. They need to stay close to me." The last thing I needed was my wards scattering like rabbits.

"I will do my best, mother." He promised, moving away to gather them up.

"The only reason why there were ever women paladins was for the same reason men have wives, Risabeth. To cook and clean…." And Uther would have died to hear it. But her words were unimportant; I steeled myself to remain still although I felt the bow pulled. The arrow impacted the porch support next to me, a good two hands over my shoulder. I spun, charging the two women and the open fighting area of the yard. How many and what?

"Mostly human males." The blade was wide awake, the hostilities had begun, it was a guaranteed feed now. "They are being obscured by at least one worker in the arts."

"Let them commit to the field." They could still run, and deny us. Then I would have to give chase…

"Good afternoon, ladies." His words were calm, and I half pivoted to bring him into view. He was a big man, equal in height with Baudoin, but much lighter. "Let's keep this as civilized as possible, shall we?" His eyes fell on me, and I stared back. It was all just a front; an act…this one was as dark as any I'd had the misfortune to meet. "I want…. You." He pointed at me, great surprise there. "You." He pointed at the woman whom he had followed, equally as surprising. "The two eldest of the little girls and the pretty boy."

In other words, hell no. No. Hell no. And, yes…hell no, in that order.

"In return for this, I will not burn the farm; kill the animals, or any of the others here. And you…" he pointed unerringly at me, "Drop the blade." He wasn't bad at this; I'd have to give him that. That was, however, all I intended to give him.

"Make me." I responded blandly, and he blinked. Obviously that was not the answer he expected. It was rather a shame; he wasn't bad looking, either. But the world was full of waste; he would just be one more.

He drew his own blade, a beautiful rapier, and pointed it towards me. Foolish, it opened his entire sword arm up to me, and he was unbalanced as he did so. He was untrained, and I had learned at Arthas's and Uther's side. I pulled the runeblade, holding it naked in the brilliant late afternoon sun. The carvings etched in its liquid length glowed in a cascade of dark blue, and the man's face fell. He probably could not identify it as what it was, the runeblade of a death knight, but he could recognize that it was an enchanted blade. Any fool could.

"Very pretty blade, milady." He breathed, unchaining his short cloak and draping it over his off hand. He wore a flashy, billowy white shirt beneath it, and no armor… he was not expecting a true defense against his trespasses this day. "I wonder, do you know how to use it? It would be better for you to just lay it down now…"

"You will not touch my son." I promised coldly, and his eyes flicked towards the silent Anelas standing in the doorway of the barn, the younglings hidden behind him. He gave a slight grimace as he made the correlation between the pretty boy he'd just asked for, and the chances that I would back down. Of course, the fool had also demanded me, and that was unacceptable.

"I could have you cut down with arrows, milady. Then who will stand for your son?"

I took a guarded position, and he raised a brow. He'd pinned me as nobility, and now obviously pinned me as trained. "You have just overstepped what you are capable of taking."

"You may be good. You have been trained. But you're still just one woman, in a dress. Either stand down, or my archers will take you down. Then we will heal you, and this will have gained you nothing." He gave me a winning lopsided grin, and I sighed. Poor clueless fool…. I summoned my armor and he took a step back.

"Yes." The blade purred, "You are beautiful. Majestic. How dare this stand against us?"

I opened with a broad swipe, and he danced back, turning pale. "Archers!" He snarled, and the air sang with arrows. Those around me, the women, Anelas, all fled for safety. I powered into my next attack, ignoring the shafts that fell around me. Once I tapped the power, it was too difficult to leash it.

He cursed vividly, for just a moment. I cut him down, and turned on his men. They were much farther away, and none were operating under the delusion that they were dealing with a paladin, no matter what my tabard proclaimed. They did the only intelligent thing possible, breaking and running. There were too many to chase, and I was not secure enough in the area to do it… at home in Northrend, I would have played with them. Now they just needed to die, quickly. The casting circle erupted around me, around them, in the same lambent blue as the runes carved on the blade and their caster turned to me. His hands lit with power, until the circle powered itself and he simply dropped dead.

"You have attracted attention." Arthas warned. "You are too close to Sylvanas's border. Take the children and run. I will keep her amused, and make her believe that it was my doing, and no fault of the family. They will not remember..."

"Keiran! Bayard!" I bellowed, summoning my dreadcharger. It was time to embrace the theory of discretion over valor… Anelas appeared; trying to drag his heavier younger brother towards the snorting, dancing dire black animal newly appeared in the yard, and failing. I mounted, galloping towards them and sliding to a stop. I grasped Bayard with an inhuman strength, lifting him wailing up before me, and then extended my hand to my elder child. He accepted it, and gave a graceful hop when I yanked him up behind me. "Time to go." I yelped, clapping my heels to the charger and giving him his head. He powered down the road headed east, away from Lordaeron's border, towards Arathi. Southshore was too close… I rejected it as a refuge immediately.

"Papa!" Bayard wailed, while his brother remained grimly silent. "Papa!"

"Will catch up to us." I promised. At the worst, Baudoin knew I would head for the Lodge in Stormwind. If he failed to intercept me along the way, he knew my final destination and would meet us there. "He knows where I am going."

I heard the cadence of hooves behind me, and looked over my shoulder. He most certainly did know where I was going, his charger gaining on mine with every stride. Finally… finally… Baudoin the Ironfist rode, in full armor on his charger, burning with the glory that was rightfully his.


	4. Chapter 4

"Pass me Bayard." He commanded when he drew alongside me, and I complied. "What happened? Aaa…. I was told I'd find you riding this road at full speed away." He'd almost said that Arthas had told him, barely catching it in time.

"They hit the farm. There were too many to take without relying on my powers. Too close to the border."

"I see. Where do we head to?"

"Khaz Modan." We'd come to Lordaeron by ship, but that required showing up in Southshore. "I don't like the idea of going to Southshore." We'd have to wait for the next available ship there, however long that would be.

"Agreed." He stated, cradling Bayard against his chest. "'Twill be dark soon."

"Can't be helped."

His eyes coasted along the length of the dreadcharger, dubiously. "Clair…" he warned, and I sighed.

"Also, can't be helped." I could no more change the charger than I could change myself. He was just as he was, seventeen hands of midnight dark flesh, a great sweep of horns shadowing his ember eyes. He could be worse, most of them were skeletal.

"Are the children well?"

I grimaced against the flow of rapidly cooling air across my face. About as well as could be expected, given that they'd been yanked from the only home they'd ever known by a woman who had killed with a motion of her hand and tossed them on a monster of a horse. "It's not warm, and it's getting dark." I settled on the most mundane of their problems… and therefore the most easily solved. They'd be getting cold. They were not dressed for this… thinly garbed and barefooted. We'd been planning on equipping them from Southshore…

"We'll head for Chillwind." He snapped. "When we draw close, you can wait behind. The Argent Dawn has sheltered me before, they'll supply the children."

"The what?" I asked, but he ignored me. Whoever they were, he'd made it perfectly plain he didn't think I'd be welcomed there. "Well. We need to stop before it gets too dark." I continued, miffed. I personally did not need to stop; the dark hid and protected me. I saw in it well, as did the dreadcharger. Baudoin, however, shone like this, a beacon.

"Gah." He grumbled. "You find this all too amusing." He let his charger slow, glancing back. "Do you think he'll hold them as he promised me he would?"

"I do. He's never broken a promise to me."

"Hmmm." Baudoin stated, obviously less than willing to grant me that. "There's a cave not far from here. I've used it before. We can settle the children down for the night, and do our best."

There was a cave, and he'd evidently been using it for quite awhile. It was clean, dry, and came complete with supplies. Not clothes and shoes to fit the children, but blankets to keep them warm, food to feed them, and wood to set a fire deep in the back.

I set the fire as Baudoin saw to the children, removing them from the chargers before they were banished away. "Papa?" Bayard wailed, and Baudoin smoothed his hair.

"It's fine, Bay. Your mama is going to make some food and we're going to sleep here."

Ah, volunteered to do the cooking. But then, I could cook, and from what I recalled, Baudoin was poor at it. I put water to boil, and smelled the linen packets of herbs thrown in the foodstuffs. "No, Clair." Baudoin disagreed slowly. "I know you're a fine cook, but as little smell as possible." He sounded tired, and I realized he'd done this too many times before. I managed the best I could with that, and it was fairly miserable, but the children ate it without complaint and went to sleep.

"Ah, my love." He sighed, dropping his harness. "It just doesn't quit."

"Hmmm. Get some sleep. I'll watch."

He did so, curling up with the children. It was the middle of the night when the little one stirred, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Mama?" He queried into the darkness and I shifted to allow him to find me.

"Here, Bayard. Another dream?"

"No. I have to go."

I glanced back out of the cave mouth that I watched. Nothing had moved out there for hours, nothing alive, or worse, not alive, waited. "Bushes." I stated and he nodded, squirming past me. He came back, sitting beside me. I wrapped the heavy warmth of my cloak around him, and he leaned up against me. I sang to him, a lullaby my mother had sung to me, and that I had sung to Anelas, and to him, in those few days I'd been allowed to keep him.

Baudoin awoke in the darkness of predawn, flipping over to watch me. "Anything?" He asked softly, and I made a negative sound. It had been quiet all night. "Good. You have the little one with you?" I made an affirmative sound, and he chuckled.

He stood, his back to me, and I admired the view until I felt a soul at the edge of my perceptions. It was moving steadily closer… "Baudoin. Someone comes, from the river."

At those words, he reached for his harness, quickly putting it on. He moved past me, filling the entrance with his bulk and his shield. "Johann." He greeted, when I could hear the stranger, at about the point I guessed they had become visible. There was steel in his voice, a warning and a promise.

"Baudoin. I wondered if you'd come here."

"Bandits attacked my brother's farm. I brought the children here." Bayard stirred under my hand, I could see well enough in the uncertain darkness to see he'd opened his eyes, but he remained still and quiet.

"Bandits?" Somehow, the speaker's voice sounded familiar… Baudoin had called him Johann. I searched my memories, yes. I had known a Johann, once, years ago in Stratholme. "The undead in Tirisfal move against the Forsaken. Rumors say Arthas attacks…."

"You believe Arthas has grown so complacent in Northrend, with the Kirin Tor and the Order on his doorstep that he bothers to attack Tirisfal?"

"All I am certain of, Lord Baudoin, is that the undead in Tirisfal move. They move against the Forsaken. That points at either Arthas, or another, moving them. They move extremely close to your family's farm, and I was sent to aid you."

Johann had grown a spine in the six years that separated him from the stripling lad I remembered and the man just without the cave. I was impressed, refusing to back down before Baudoin showed great fortitude.

"So." He continued when Baudoin remained silent. "You have the children here, with you?"

"I do."

"Good. Good. Let's get them to the Camp…" From what I could see of Baudoin, which was his back, he showed no signs of moving. There was an awkward moment, like two bulls eying each other over a fence. "What goes, Baudoin? I would bring no harm to your little ones…"

No, Baudoin worried that he would bring harm to me. Or more precisely, he worried that the pair of us would be forced to harm him to keep me safe. "Johann. I am not alone with the children. I have….Clarimonde…with me."

The man moved backwards, two steps, enough to open up his sword arm. "Clarimonde?" He demanded, loudly enough to wake Anelas. Bayard squirmed impossibly close to me, clinging and burying his face in my thigh while his older brother stood warily. "Baudoin, Clarimonde followed Arthas to Northrend! Is it any wonder the undead move in Tirisfal, if she is this close to them? I know you loved her once, but she has fallen! If she is indeed here, with you, with those children, then we finally have the chance to release her..."

Baudoin growled him into silence, the only sound the wakening calls of the birds, Baudoin's deep breathing, and the beginnings of Bayard's sobs. Enough was enough….

"Baudoin. Step aside." I ordered, standing cautiously. Bayard did not want to let me go, but Anelas stepped up and held him by his shoulders. "I am not without the ability to speak for myself here." Baudoin grudgingly stepped aside, and I emerged into the pale light of dawn. Yes, the man before me was the Johann I remembered from Stratholme, only now he did not wear the tabard of the Hand. He watched me more than dubiously, his blue eyes trained on my tabard.

"Lady Clarimonde." He breathed. "I cannot allow you to harm these children. I cannot allow you to harm Baudoin… You served the Hand with honor once, do not taint what you left behind."

In other words, it was a fine day to die, and he'd be more than happy to help me manage it. Except I had no intention of trying it…again. Even if the prize of it was a consecrated burial in Stormwind's chapel, it was nothing I cared to try. I knew where I belonged when I was dead, and it was on the empty lands of Northrend where Arthas had laid me to rest. "Johann. You've grown."

"As have you." He noted pointedly. There was nothing natural in the two hands of height I'd gained after my death.

"True." I pulled out my writs from the Order, from the Highlord, newly signed upon my recovery, and passed them to him. "I do not know who you work for now, Johann. But I work for the Hand."

He unrolled them, cautiously keeping an eye on me as he skimmed them. "This is a lie." He snapped. "You serve Arthas. You always have, and you always will. You served him from the first moment you were brought to the Lodge, and laid eyes upon him."

And never, ever underestimate what a child understands. What had been obscured to the adults around him was as obvious to this one as the freckled nose in his face. "I served Uther." I played the trick, already guessing it was in vain, but it was worth the attempt.

He barked in laughter, but carefully refolded the writs as they had been and returned them to me. "You served Uther." He ground the sentence out, and snatched his hand away when I had hold of the documents. "Count me as a fool, do you? Need me to count the ways you served Arthas over him? Half the Order knew it, and the other half suspected. You played your game, Clarimonde. The only joy I have in it is that you failed in it."

"None of us saw where this would lead us." I would accept only so much blame… Certainly I had made grave mistakes, many of them. But others had as well. "And Uther asked me to serve Arthas first." Yes, and that was a truth I would hold on to with every ounce of strength I had. "Becoming Arthas's sworn companion was not my idea, Johann. That was Uther's work. He was a great man, but he was not perfect! Yes, I made mistakes. But what ones would you have me take back?" I stared at him. A child's inborn wisdom had seen the core, but not the ephemera around it. He knew I'd loved Arthas, and that truth had led to calamity. He probably realized just where Anelas had come from, many of the Order had. That had to be the game I was accused of playing, and failing.

"Stratholme. You burned my home around my ears…"

And I had burned my own as well. So many things I would love to still possess had vanished in that afternoon, gifts from Uther, gifts from Arthas, memories of a time when things were right and whole… "Stratholme was my home as well."

"Johann. This is an argument you will not win." Baudoin finally breathed, extending his hand back into the cave as an invitation for the children to come to him. "Clair is my wife. Mother of my children. And now, the Highlord has marked her again as one of my brethren in the Order."

"You cannot tell me her presence is not the reason why the undead have become agitated..."

He was an intuitive one; I'd have to give him that. Baudoin only smiled, and it was a not very wholesome smile, one that plucked warnings down my back. When had Baudoin soured to the point when he could show that face? "It's simple, Johann. The undead are not worth worrying about, and the Forsaken are no concern of ours, except to curb them. If they destroy each other, it is less for us to destroy later. Now, I am taking my wife and my children to the Lodge in Stormwind. Aid me, or don't. But you will not hinder me."

"You are a lovesick fool, Baudoin. You will share her for every moment of your life. You shared her then, you share her now."

Baudoin's eyes fell on me, darkened, and then he shrugged. "Aye. I've shared her with him from the beginning. But I'd rather have half of her, and a child borne of her, than none of her at all. I knew that when I started paying court to the Prince's swornbound. As you said yourself, the entire Order knew, and I was part of the Order. There is no wool over my eyes. Now, will the Dawn equip me, or do I carry on into Arathi with the children unprovisioned?"

Johann dropped his head, his pale hair flaming with the first beams of a new day. "I'd never deny your children anything, Baudoin. You know that. You mean to travel overland to Khaz Modan?"

"It is not wise to wait for the ship at Southshore. Our hands are forced. We must ride... to either Khaz Modan or Menethil Harbor. My charger is too obvious, and hers…." He stared at me wryly, "Makes mine look everyday by comparison. As the Hand comes out of hiding, there are more and more of us…"

"Praise the Light." Johann murmured. "So you need mounts for four. With possible poor weather." He nodded, his eyes skimming across the boys as they became visible. "I hope you know what you're doing, Baudoin…"

"They are her sons. They were meant to be more than Hillsbrad farmers."

"Displaced Lordaeron nobility are a pence a dozen." He cast one last wary look at me. "But they are children of the Order. Give them her name; if you must…it is empty now. However, if the Order is coming again, then yes, they should grow with it." He spun, moving farther away, almost to the edge of the trees. "I'll be back with mounts and supplies." And then, he was gone.

"That…could have gone better." I noted slowly, shading my eyes against the rosy light filtering through the trees. The dark suited me better…

"And it could have gone worse." Baudoin disputed. "No blows exchanged." He smiled at the children, and widened the smile to include me. It was my old Baudoin, back again, and I grinned. He leaned in and kissed me while the little ones looked on. "Breakfast."

"Bah." I growled, but returned to the meager fire and coaxed up a passable meal. Anelas came in first, watching me. "What?" I asked when his pause became too long.

"He said you'd give us a name. What is it?"

I sighed, fighting down my first response of Menethil. As truthful as it was, it faced trouble in the face. Baudoin was common, he had no family name to give… "De Nemesio." I allowed. "You are Kieran De Nemesio, as I am Clarimonde De Nemesio."

"And you're from Lordaeron, deep in the lost area…"

"The estates have fallen, yes. But there were estates, close to Brill. My parents were nobility…. Our family served Lordaeron for generations." I added a touch of salt to the boiling water, staring thoughtfully at the steam rising.

"And you served the prince." He stared at me, pensively. "And you're not going to tell me who my father is…are you?"

Damn it all. I locked eyes with him, and he shrugged. "You wear the Menethil family signet on your wedded finger… and you are spilling the salt." I cursed, righting the salt bag. Why couldn't I have had a normal child? I didn't need to feel Arthas's deep amusement…

"Your father was a paladin of the Order." I managed to keep my voice even. "A fine and wonderful man, whom I loved dearly."

"Of course." He smiled, his eyes level. "As was the prince… A paladin of the Order. A fine and wonderful man, whom you loved dearly. Tell me I'm wrong. Swear it, and I'll believe you."

Damn Johann and his mouth, he'd let entirely too much slip, and again, I would have to be the one to pick up the pieces. Try as I did, I could not bring the lie to my lips. "You are not wrong." I murmured, and he had not been as firm in his belief as I'd thought, judging by the shock on his face. "You are Arthas's born son."

He froze, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face, too quickly for me to pin them down. "What does that mean, then?" He finally asked, and I shrugged, piling the footstuffs back into their bag. We'd carry them with us… every little bit helped.

"Lordaeron is that way." I flicked my fingertips towards the rising, flowing chaos I felt growing as Arthas covered our retreat. "Twisted. Dead. Ruined. You are the heir to a kingdom that no longer truly exists, Kieran. If we can get it back, then it might mean something in the future. Until then, Johann is correct. Displaced Lordaeron nobility are everywhere. We mean little in the grand scheme of things for that. Our value is not in our names right now. Not in our blood. But in our hearts, our souls…and our sword arms. If we can reclaim our home, our Lordaeron, then perhaps it will come into play. Until then…. I will see you raised as a member of the Hand. Just remember who and what you are, but do not let it rule you, haunt you. I did not bear you to play political games. I bore you because I loved your father, and I love you. Everything else is small. Rise as a man, Anelas Menethil. Only after that can you hope to be the king that Lordaeron needs."

I glanced in the direction I had gestured in. So much destruction… "It is not a task I would wish upon anyone, Kieran." I finally sighed. It might just be kinder to let it all die. Truly die. As much as I thought it, I could not bring myself to hope it. That was Lordaeron….

"I understand." He murmured, helping me gather the supplies.


	5. Chapter 5

An older man, not Johann, appeared in midmorning, ponying a string of mounts. They were hardly fine, two disreputable looking horses, barely fourteen hands tall, and a couple of barrel bellied ponies. If they were mine, I would have fed their flesh to the hounds and scattered the ashes of their bones among the orchards a long time ago. But they weren't mine, and beggars could not be choosers. Hopefully they would last into Khaz Modan, and we could buy better from the dwarves…

I mounted mine, ignoring his long suffering sigh, and pointed him along the road towards Arathi, leaving the chaos I had helped spark behind me. I was getting good at that… Stratholme, and now Hillsbrad….

We made poor time along the way, neither of the horses up to the task given them, and neither of the boys were adequate enough riders to push their stubborn ponies to a faster speed. I glanced warily behind me when Baudoin pulled up, still well on the Hillsbrad side of Thoradin's Wall. But dusk fell quickly this far north, and the shadows had grown long.

"I know." He muttered when I gave him a dubious look. "We travel with babies, Clair. It can't be helped…"

"Hmmmm." I could only agree with his logic, but the feeling coming out of Hillsbrad was not calming as I had expected it to. It felt more like a conflict left on hold for too long had finally been allowed release. "I don't like it." I grumbled and he sent me an exasperated look in response. "I know. Neither do you." I continued, still staring in that direction. Sylvanas waited there, pushed from there. We had so many things in common, and yet so many things separated us, and those were the issues that would keep us at odds. We had both been raised by Arthas, both had been treasured to some extent by him, and indeed, both of us had betrayed him to some extent. There, the similarities ended. I had been raised by a man I had sworn my service to, the father of one of my children, my prince. He had reason enough to believe I would want to stay in his service, as twisted as the events were that led to that. Arthas had not killed me; in fact, he'd been trying to fight his way to me to prevent my death when I had fallen. He'd still been a man then, still Arthas, and I had slept through the worst of his sins.

Not so with Sylvanas. He'd killed her, and had not left it at that. Raising her was foolishness at its greatest, an exercise in rage and hubris. Had he just left her dead, I would not need to deal with her, he would not need to. She would not be allowed to hold Lordaeron, my Lordaeron, but what was past was past. I would need to deal with her later, but not now. The children came first.

"Do we ride for Menethil Harbor, or on into Khaz Modan?" I asked, going through the motions of setting camp. It had been awhile since I'd needed to, in Arthas's service I had sheltered at Icecrown, but it was amazing to me how fast I remembered how. Uther had taught me well.

"Not sure." He sighed; taking stock of the supplies we'd been given. Whoever this Dawn was, they'd been reasonably generous, especially if I fed myself elsewhere. Add whatever we could find on the way, and we were set. "I'd prefer to take the boat from Menethil."

So would I. The going was harsher in Khaz Modan, the weather unpredictable and the paths dangerous. I could pass through them easily enough, compared to the terrain near the Throne, the land of the dwarves was benign. Baudoin, probably likewise. The children, no. They'd lived their entire lives in Hillsbrad, never riding a horse before, and it showed. There was a long road ahead of us, either way.

"It does not want to settle." I noted after a moment, and he followed my eyes into Hillsbrad. "It is not safe. Baudoin, go home." It was not a prophecy, but an understanding. If his family fell, and he did not stand for them, he would never forgive himself. And I would not live with that. "I will take the children on to Menethil Harbor and take the first boat to Stormwind."

"You're certain?" He asked warily, but I could feel him yearn to return. He tired of running.

"I am. I am capable of seeing the children to the Lodge safely." Few things away from Sylvanas could stand against me, the way should be clear. He nodded, kissing me on the forehead and summoning his charger. The children watched him go, but said nothing.

My greatest fear in reclaiming the children had been that they would hate me. I realize, that coming from someone like me, who had cherished her parents so, that this would seem to be the deepest hypocrisy. I've been accused of hypocrisy, and worse, in my life, but I still feared it. What I was not prepared for was the intense need that both children treated me to, especially Bayard. They seemed more than willing to forgive my earlier absence now that I had returned to them, basking in my attention. I was as much theirs as they were mine, and I watched them. I had been a contrary and distant child, exulting in the company of horses and bees more than people, but when I had wanted attention, it had been mine. I'd had a maid whose only job was to pay attention to me. A tutor, likewise. My mother's attentions had been there when I demanded them, she'd been proud to raise me as a child of nobility, a lady. Even my father would look to me… his only.

Kieran and Bayard had been raised as just two more children amongst many, all clamoring for attention, and they were the two least likely to receive it. Baudoin's presence had been fickle, unpredictable. He'd paid for them to receive an education, but that in itself had served equally to set them apart, a reminder that they did not fit in.

"Where are we going?" Bayard demanded, and I glanced at him. Before us, just coming into view, loomed Thoradin's Wall, a shadow on the horizon.

"Menethil Harbor." I repeated. Surely they had both heard that when Baudoin had asked? "And from there, to Stormwind."

"Oh." His voice was small; he ached to ask more but feared to. I glanced up into the immaculate blue sky; the sun had risen to its highest point. It was lunch time, time to rest the ponies and the children.

"I'll show you in a little bit. It's time to stop for lunch anyway." I said, allowing my lagging horse to stop in a grassy clearing. I fed the children, then pulled out my map case. Once, this had carried documents of great import, the papers from the King acknowledging Anelas, and the original reports of the Plague moving from Brill, but Jaina had been entrusted with those papers. My maps were too precious, too important, and the Kirin Tor had their equal anyway. They were out of date, predating the Plague and fall of Lordaeron, but I refused to buy new.

"We are here." I said, as Bayard squirmed closer and his brother leaned over my shoulder, resting a fingertip on the road eastbound out of Hillsbrad. "We travel… Here." The fingertip coasted east, through Arathi, then due south through the swamps to Menethil Harbor, and across the blue tinted expanse of ocean to Stormwind.

"So far?" Anelas asked.

"They expect us in Stormwind. That is where the Order rebuilds from." That was where the Highlord required my presence; he'd promised me a safe and wholesome place to raise my children in. They'd grow to manhood there, not sheltered, for sheltered was a foolish way to raise the young in such troubled times, but rather nurtured and finely tuned. Life was not easy; I'd done them no favors by bearing them.

We carried on after lunch, passing beneath the ruins of Thoradin's Wall and out into the open expanse of Arathi. I was both relieved and horrified to find that the children knew nothing of this area, so close to where they'd been raised at. Horrified, because if they didn't know this, then what had they been taught? How could they not know of the Troll Wars? The unification of the Tribes? Arathor? The very basis for human civilization, the seed which had grown Lordaeron? I was relieved, because it gave me something to pass the time, telling them the history that they'd been so deprived of. Without that history, that geography, they lived in a void of confusion. I told them of Arathor, of Strom, of Anduin Lothar. This was the cradle of humanity. My children had grown up on its outskirts, and they knew nothing of it. That was a crime I could not allow, and well, if repairing the crime kept Bayard peaceably silent, so much the better.

We made good time, the weather was fair and the way clear. Both children's riding abilities progressed at a fast rate, by the time we'd crossed Arathi and made the bridge, they were riding about as well as I could hope given the quality of their mounts. I also taught them the skills that Uther had seen me learn, how to travel, camp, and provision off of the road. It made less work for me, and keeping them usefully occupied made the trip go easier. They learned quickly, deftly… they'd been blessed with quick minds. Blessed, or perhaps cursed…. The younger one worried me, for I saw the signs that my parents had been oblivious to during my upbringing. They'd written my dreams off to my age, my gender, and had relegated them to the merely annoying category. I was not so blithely ignorant, much as I wished I could be. He came to me too many times during the nights, seeking comfort, happy to find me awake when others should sleep. I was willing to give him that comfort, but it brought a heavy weight to my heart. Not again. Why had that carried forward?

"Mama?" Bayard's voice startled me from my musings, and I glanced at him. Even his brother, normally constrained and solemn, looked unnerved and I followed their eyes.

"Oh, yes. The bridge. I told you of it…."

Anelas's lips twisted in a wry smile worthy of his father, and I blinked at the blurring of years before me. "Yes, mother." He breathed slowly. "You neglected to tell us quite how deep the chasm is…and how poorly maintained the bridge is."

"Oh…" I had never passed over the Thandol Span before; I knew it from nothing but books and reports, and those had stressed its strategic importance to Lordaeron and Azeroth, the two land masses it linked. None of the Order's reports mentioned poor repair, but I could see what Anelas referred to. Two of the spans were shattered, and the last remaining one was damaged. This was not poor repair, but outright vandalism, and I sighed, studying the remaining span. "Hold my horse, Kieran." I ordered, sliding from the saddle and passing him the reins. If it had been a spirited, fine mount, I would have worried, but this one was always happy to stop.

I walked out onto the bridge, securely under the stare of two pairs of eyes, one violet as mine and my father's, and one brandy light. Once, this bridge held up under the weight of armies on the move, now it seemed a dubious proposition that three, two children and a woman, could cross it. And yes, that was a long, long, long way down. "I'll walk the horses over and then you can follow." I stated, and they both blinked in unison, but dismounted when I strode back. That, however, was easier said than done, and required pressure from the gifts I was trying so hard to avoid. None of the horses were pleased by the idea of crossing over, but I finally managed to coax and bully them over. The children bolted across once I had the horses safely on the other side, and one look at their pale faces convinced me that it was time to stop for the evening. As usual, Kieran bedded down in his roll without complaint, and Bayard placed his as close to mine as he could manage, burrowing into my side. I sighed when he had fallen asleep, things were never easy, and I was paying for leaving them as surely as if they'd both turned their backs on me. I wished Baudoin would hurry, catch up to us, but when I thought of him, I knew he was far from me.

I hate boats; let's just get that one clear. I was never much of a swimmer… it had been unbecoming a lady of my station to do more than wade delicately in the shallows of Brightwater Lake or peruse the waves crashing along the North Coast. Also my mother had misconstrued my small stature as obvious proof that I was sickly and constantly on the verge of death from every fever and cough on the prowl. No amount of arguments to the contrary worked, she remained forever vigilant against any perceived threats to my survival.

I wrinkled my nose against the salt breeze flowing through Menethil Harbor. It was ironic, I supposed, that she had brought the plague to me. That she had died of it, and I had not. I rested a hand on Anelas's shoulder, the other on Bayard's head.

Now swimming, and in fact, dying, meant little to me, but I still hated boats. They were a harsh reminder of my first voyage by sea, following Arthas to Northrend, of my last days left living. Those last few days before all was truly lost.

And I hated them for a strictly strategic reason. On land, on horseback, I could fight like a demon cornered. I was no sailor, the workings of these great vessels were a great mystery to me, and I disliked that.

"Which one will we take, Mama?" Bayard demanded breathlessly, and I smiled. What was nothing but discomfort and a harsh memory to me was a grand adventure to him and his brother. I forced a smile and a slight shrug.

"Not sure yet, Bay. I have to speak to the dockmaster before I'll know that." I said, feeling the weight of eyes upon me. There were few reasons for any to come out of the Wetlands to arrive here, it was obvious we'd be seeking passage or work, and were being sized up accordingly. I still wore the plain plaid dress and darned stockings of a Hillsbrad matron, and the boys wore no better. We arrived on poor mounts, and the boys gawked like bumpkins. It took no thought to guess how well we did size up, and no wonder that the agents plying the docks pointedly ignored us. They wanted clients with coin, silver…or preferably gold. Not copper, or worse, work for passage. It was impossible to get a percentage of nothing.

I snatched up my horse's reins, it was time to get rid of this hunk of stubborn meat, and I looked forward to that. "Come on."

The stablemaster glanced at us dubiously and even more dubiously at the horses. "I'm not buying." He stated quickly, obviously hoping to cut me off before I even got started. "Butcher might."

I agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly, but that was beyond the point. "No. They don't belong to me, they were loaned and I need to see them returned." Again, my voice gave away more about me than my appearance did, and he stared at me cautiously. "They belong to the Argent Dawn. Who can arrange their return?"

"You have coin to pay for their keep until the Dawn's courier comes through?"

"I do." I proved it by moving a gold coin gracefully through my fingers, a small trick taught by my father. It was sale enough for him, he snatched it up as competently as I'd exhibited it, and it vanished like it had never existed. A small price to pay to get rid of dogmeat and his two shaggy companions… And it made my day shine brighter. Add a bath, clean clothes, and someone else's cooking to the mix, and I'd be happy.

The inn was redolent with the smells of that someone else's cooking, and I could hear Bayard's stomach growl when he was assaulted by the scent. He remained silent, however, although we had skipped breakfast and lunch to get here as quickly as possible. Neither of them had ever asked for food, and seemed relieved when they got it. They weren't overly thin, obviously Baudoin's family had been feeding them, but they were both thinner than I cared for.

"What for you and the boys?" The barmaid, a pretty little thing with a wide smile, asked. The inn was empty, everyone still out on the docks. Later, there'd be people to bargain with, now I was more concerned with my own comfort and that of the children. "Baths." I began. There was no way I was getting on a boat without one. "Dinner. And do any of the ships depart today?"

She grinned at me, and I wondered how anybody living in these times could be that happy. "Certainly, certainly, and no…in that order. So you want a room as well, or are you and the boys hoping to sleep in the commons?" That brought a sour stare from the innkeep behind the bar, and she hurried to finish. "That's not free. And it's not right for a woman to do it."

I paused long enough to add to her misery, and then shook my head. "No. We'll take a room…" My gaze drifted to the innkeep. "The commons are…entirely too common for my taste." I spiced the sentence with a delivery that would have made my parents proud. It did not have the desired effect on the keep, who only raised a brow. But, as stated earlier, displaced nobility was a pence a dozen in these times. Unlike most of those, however, I still possessed a fortune if not lands. Baudoin had been canny, removing the coffers when he had.

"Well." He sighed drolly. "The uncommon rooms have a price, your ladyship, and I'll see your coin beforehand."

"Of course they do. And, of course you will." I placed another gold coin on the shining bar in front of him. It did not vanish with the speed of the first, but it did lighten the barmaid's frown. She was relieved; I would guess too many arrived here hungry.

"Room for you and the boys. Food." She grinned at Bayard's plaintive stare, "And baths, coming up. This way."

The room was comfortable enough, I could not complain. The bath did its job, and I emerged a different person, relegating the plaid dress to the bottom of my pack. I understood its use for when I had been forced to wear it, but the need was past. Now, it just marked me as a target, a common woman traveling alone with two children too small to aid in their own defense, unarmed and an easy mark. I replaced it with leather pants, a suede vest, linen shirt and boots, slinging my runeblade at my side. I added the final touch to warn away those who might think me soft, the tabard of the Silver Hand, and gathered up the children. It was time to eat, and court the agents who would see me to Stormwind.

I came back downstairs, and the barmaid's grin faded. I had gone from ordinary woman traveling alone with a couple of children to possible trouble. "You're a paladin." She said, and I couldn't decide if she marveled at the idea, or if it was an accusation.

"No." No, no longer. Tirion had not come out and said it in so many words, exactly, but he'd made it clear that he no longer considered me such. If I didn't bear a paladin's weapon, ride a paladin's charger, and undertake the duties and responsibilities of a paladin…if I could no longer call upon my gifts, then I was a paladin no more. My death had stolen those gifts, I could no longer heal. How could I breathe life into another, when I was not alive myself? I did not bring life and hope any more, I brought death and fear. Cautiously leashed by the Order now, watched, controlled, but still undeniable. "No. I am no paladin anymore." That in itself was not surprising. Many of the Order had left during the Purge, choosing to melt into the populace rather than fight a battle that could not be won. "I…. serve the Order in other ways now." Those were Tirion's words, verbatim, and I could only wonder what ways he thought I could serve. He had not been forthcoming with that, instead sending me to gather the children up.

"Ah. Where do you travel to?"

"Stormwind City." I said. I had never been there myself; it had been so far south. My place had been Lordaeron, Stratholme, at Uther's side. Whatever it was like, I was as certain it wouldn't be Stratholme again, just as I was certain that Tirion was no Uther. But it had to be better for the children than Hillsbrad was proving to be…

They came down then, wearing their better clothes, and I smiled. Whatever it took. These two were the only tangible, concrete part of myself left. They were the only part of my life which truly remained.


	6. Chapter 6

Baudoin still had not returned to us by the time a ship was ready, and I considered waiting, but I had promised him we would take the first ship out. And I disliked keeping the children so far from safety. We boarded the next morning, bound for Stormwind. I used the time given, the enforced restriction, to expand upon the children's education again, this time working on their ciphers. This, they at least had an elementary grasp of, and again, they learned quickly. And still, I felt the edge of more clinging to Bayard, blessedly absent in his brother.

We put into Stormwind on a beautiful, warm day, and I gazed upon the capital of Azeroth, the greatest remaining human city. As I knew it would be, it was no Lordaeron, but it was a living city. Lordaeron could no longer claim that.

We made our way to the Lodge, the children wide eyed and amazed at the hubbub while I led them along. The lists were full of young initiates training, and the sight was almost enough to make me consider flight. No. Not this, I couldn't…

Anelas wrapped warm fingers around my cool ones, and gazed at me through my own eyes. "What?" I asked, when I could manage the word.

"You didn't seem…right, just then." He murmured, the warm sea breeze stirring his reddish blond hair. "It's going to be fine, Mama."

I hoped so. I really did.

I was shown into Tirion's offices quickly, and he raised steady eyes to me when I stepped in. They dropped to study the children, and he smiled. "Good afternoon, Clarimonde. These are the children?"

"Kieran and Bayard, yes." I rested a hand on each of their shoulders when I said their names, and Tirion measured them for a long moment.

"Baudoin did not return with you. And I hear word of some disturbance close to the area you were in?"

"There was, yes. A skirmish between the undead and the forsaken. Baudoin chose to remain behind and offer his support to his family, and to the Argent Dawn."

"Ah." Tirion's office was warmer than Uther's had been, brighter. Its walls were washed pale honey, while Uther's had been unadorned stone. But then, Lordaeron, especially Stratholme, had not been balmy. Stormwind was. "We have arranged quarters for you, Clarimonde. I am certain you want to get the boys settled in as soon as possible, so I will have you taken there immediately."

And so, I was dismissed. Uther had dismissed me more times than I cared to count, never letting me lose sight of the truth. He had been in charge. He loved us, cared for us, but at the end, it was his call. It had never caused me to bridle or fume, but when Tirion did it, I did.

I turned, but not quickly enough. I could feel his gaze boring into my back… "Clarimonde." He stated, and I turned again. I expected a lecture, condemnation of what I knew he sensed from me. He glanced between my eyes and those of the children, before he rose from his chair. "Be welcomed here. Return to the Order unburdened by actions beyond your control. You have a place here, and I celebrate your return and the addition of your blood to our numbers. Kieran. Bayard. Welcome to Stormwind. I hope you'll find the home we've secured acceptable."

He smiled, especially at the children, but his eyes were still watchful when they fell upon me. Of course, they were just children. They breathed and lived, innocent. I had committed crimes, sins, and he was well aware of that.

I was led to a small house on the Lodge's grounds, close to the list fields and barracks. It was much smaller than the estates I had been raised on, but was luxurious in comparison to the cell I'd lived in at Stratholme. It was sparsely furnished, but there was enough for now, and I settled the boys into their room. The excitement of the trip finally came to bear, and they fell asleep in their beds, leaving me to ponder the view from the windows alone. Finally, I sat and pulled out my map case, sliding out a clean sheet of paper and my pen set and went to writing. I needed Jaina…. Again. As much as I hated to admit it.

I used the next week to settle down, to provision my children and wait. Serve the Order, how? As what? I was no paladin, but my pride growled at the idea of accepting a lesser position in the Order than that. At the end of the week, the children went into the Lodge's school to be taught by the priests and I was called to the list field. I was placed in the initiate's class, under Tirion's hawk stare. Even before my death, and the gifts I had gained from it, I had been well beyond this. I moved through the drills with an almost mechanical precision, well aware that I was being placed with the most awkward of students. He added insult to injury by keeping me with them during the afternoon's indoor lessons, the same lessons I'd been teaching the children on the trip. As usual, when boredom claimed me, I began to subvert the teachers… ignoring Tirion's stare as I did so.

I came home quickly, not looking forward to his words. I could see the children and their teacher from my window, the day was hot and they'd taken the lessons outside under the shade of a great spreading tree. I was so distracted that I missed the presence in the room with me, or she was hiding, or perhaps both.

"Clarimonde." She stated, and I startled, spinning on her, my open hand over where the runeblade should rest. It did not, Tirion was not fool enough to put me on a list field with awkward students armed like that.

"Jaina…." Yes, I'd written her. I'd be expecting an answer, and an invite to see her. I hadn't expected her to be here, so soon.

"I received your letter. You said you needed to see me…"

"Yes. I just didn't expect you to come." I'd expected to have more time to frame my concerns, my questions, than this. She came from the back room, stepping into the pool of light from the western facing windows.

"I receive a letter from you that contains the statement that you are afraid, and need to see me on…how did you put it precisely, a matter of some importance. And you don't expect me to come?"

Put that way… I stared back out the window. "I went to Hillsbrad, to regain my children." I stated, and considered the words that needed to follow. To say it, especially to her, would be an irrevocable step. No calling it back. "I spent a great deal of time with them on the way back. Alone." And the words didn't want to come. I planted my hand against the window jam and stared. Jaina waited well past when the silence became awkward, before she finally shifted, her expression wary and curious.

"Clarimonde. I am not a mother, and I'm a little uncertain why you've asked me here for this… but I do know you can't expect them to love you just because you are their mother. It's not that easy. They'll need time."

"That is not what concerns me, Jaina." No, that was far from my problem. Both seemed more than happy to accept me as their mother and leave it at that. "My parents were ignorant in my upbringing; they truly failed to see what was before them…" She sat at the table just behind me, watching me. "I am not so blind. I see in one of them the signs that my parents did not see. I see one of them showing the first signs I did when I began to see things I should not. Jaina, I am afraid that one of them bears the same curse I did."

Her expression closed down, and she studied the table surface for a long moment. "I see why you have brought me here, then." She sighed. "By the time we were aware of your…" she paused for a long moment, "Abilities…it was too late. I do not know that I would go so far as to call it a curse, Clair." I stared at her mutinously, but she ignored it. "I know. I know. To you, it could be nothing else. You are so bound and determined to see it as such; you ignore what it did for you. You were young when you had the first child, and it was ill advised then. The second, even more so. But now, knowing you will have no more, was your speed in having the only two you could have so wrong? Would you have changed that? Denied either of them? Arthas's son? Baudoin's?"

"No. They are all that remains of my life."

"True enough. They are all that remains of the time you lived. The visions pushed you to have them, while you still had the time. That was no curse, Clair, but a blessing. You would have died childless. Baudoin, likewise, for he will not seek another. Your visions led to Baudoin's survival of the Purge. Would you recall that?"

"Of course not." Never.

"So, because of these visions, your children live, your husband lives. Cursed, Clarimonde? I think not. You think the same as most seers do, why did you see so little?" She stood up, moved behind me, and rested a hand on my shoulder. "Count yourself blessed in how much you did see. You were not permitted to save Arthas. Or Uther. But you were permitted to save Baudoin. To bear your sons, and have a reason to carry on."

I rested my forehead against my upper arm, unwilling to look at her. She only sighed, patting my shoulder like she was my mother, and moved to the other window. To accept her words would mean absolving myself of guilt, at least of that guilt, and I wasn't sure I was ready to do that yet. "Which of them is it?" She finally asked.

"Bayard. The little one, Baudoin's."

She nodded. "This does not come as a completely unexpected turn of events, Clair." Her voice was calm, soothing. "The Kirin Tor watches bloodlines such as yours closely. We would have asked to see the children if you had not brought this to us on your own. How old is he now?"

"Six."

"He is too young to come to us now, anyway. As you have said, Clair, you are not blind to this. You are not ignorant as your parents were. I don't see where anyone is better suited to dealing with this than you are. What makes you believe he is a seer?"

"He has the dreams, and they feel…" I placed my fisted hand over my still heart. "Real. More."

"And yours have ceased?"

"Yes." I had the occasional sharp feeling, but the visions had died, gone. I saw no more than I should now.

"I meant to talk to you about this then, but we had no time. When did they stop, Clair? It is not common for a gift such as yours to just die, especially since I believe they died…before you did." She was one of the few who faced my death and continued existence with any level of equanimity. It was almost refreshing.

"They died when Bayard was conceived." Or had been passed on to him, I didn't need her to tell me so.

"Ah. And how old is the older one now? Seven? Eight?"

"Seven. Kieran is seven."

"And he shows no signs of this to you? You only speak of your concerns with the younger one."

"I see nothing with Kieran. Nothing like that. He's bright, too bright for my good, but I sense no…" I shrugged when words failed me. She only nodded, needing no words to explain it.

"The Menethil family is not known for any such gifts, Clair. They throw leaders, rulers, securely rooted in reality. Yours has thrown the gifted before, and Baudoin's family is anyone's guess. Perhaps he has canny in his blood, perhaps this is your blood breeding true again, or both. You are wise for your age, raise your sons as you feel they need and I will look at Bayard again when he is ten and old enough to enter the Citadel." She sat back at the table, raising her brows. "Now, for you. How does it go?"

I shrugged, moving to the kitchen and starting a kettle. "It goes. It is… not Stratholme. Tirion is not Uther. You will stay for dinner? The night? I can cook, you know. My mother raised me right."

She smiled, honestly. "That would be marvelous, Clair."


	7. Chapter 7

The boys arrived home in time to smell the special dinner I was working on, giving me wide, expectant eyes. "Mama?" Bayard asked, as I removed the pie from the oven.

"We have a visitor." I stated, staring at the pie. It was perfect, my mother would have been proud. "She'll be staying the night with us. And you'll behave." I don't know why I added the last, they tended to be remarkably well behaved, but it sounded appropriately stern and maternal.

"A visitor?" Anelas asked, warily. He was not as quick to accept new people as his brother was, I understood his standoffishness much more than I comprehended his brother's congeniality.

"A friend." It was odd to consider her such, but she'd proven herself that more than once. "Lady Jaina, of the Kirin Tor."

"Something smells wonderful, Clair. These are the boys?" She appeared from the room I had put her in, and she had changed out of the robes that marked her as an archmage of the Kirin Tor. I expected her to stare at Anelas, and her gaze did linger on his face for a long moment, but Bayard held her interest longer. "Yes. So they are." She stated without waiting for any answer from me.

We ate, her eyes on me as I quizzed the children on their day's lessons and caught up on their day. Sadness clung to her features, until Bayard stared at her. "What?" He demanded abruptly, and I fought the urge to kick him under the table. He was just as Baudoin had been, graceless and straightforward. I'd have to work on that…

"Just thinking, little one." She replied and his frown deepened. Anelas's expression darkened and he sent his brother a warning stare.

"Whatever you're thinking is wrong." Bayard stated peevishly, and Jaina's brows arched.

"Oh?" she asked, and I recognized the calm. She bore the same air, the same expression, as she had when she'd first been faced with my Sight.

"Bay." Anelas hissed. "None of that. None of that here. You promised."

His younger brother stopped as abruptly as if he'd swallowed a toad, casting his gaze back to his plate. "'M sorry, Kier." He breathed, scolded to his core. I considered it, once this promise had been brought up, if he was anything like his father, then moving him from it would be difficult, if not impossible.

"Tell me of the dreams, Bayard." I finally stated. "Especially the waking ones. How is Lady Jaina wrong?"

"Melia told me they were just nothing…" He whispered. "She told me I was little. That I wanted my mama. That I made you up, when I told her what you looked like. She told me I was full of foolish… But I saw you. I saw you." His chin trembled, but his eyes blazed with fury.

Anelas sighed, his eyes skipping between me and Jaina. "He used to say he saw our mama." He breathed, pushing away his plate. "That she was very tall, with dark hair and my eyes. That she wore black armor, and lived in ice. That she was with a gray man with cat green eyes. That she was surrounded by giant things he couldn't describe, like spider people. Melia found them too fanciful, and he scared the little ones with it. But it's true, isn't it? I knew it when I saw you."

"It's true." I confirmed, my eyes on Jaina. She might not recognize the description of Arthas, but she knew a nerubian, and she had to know something of Icecrown.

"Fine." She said, "You're right, Clair. I'll speak to people here, and I'll make certain he receives training now. He's too young for the Citadel still, and I feel as strongly as I did before that you are the best one to raise him now. He needs his mother. His father. He is blessed to still have both of you, in spite of everything. So, little one…" She glanced at Bayard. "How am I wrong?"

He stared blankly at his plate for a long moment. "There will be another one." He stated, and my chest seized. That voice. I knew that voice. It wasn't his. "My sister is not here yet, but there will be another one."

"Bayard…" I breathed, and he raised steady eyes to me.

"You are dead. You can bear no more. That does not matter. There will be another, from the time of chaos that comes."

"And apples fall not far from their trees." Jaina murmured, sliding another helping of beef pie onto his plate. She touched the tip of his nose with her finger, startling him out of the fugue. "You. Eat. All of that."

It was an order he didn't need to hear twice, shoveling more into his mouth. After he and his brother were full, they fell to sleep in their beds, and I stared at them from the pale light of a candle. "He is." I stated, and I could feel Jaina's eyes on my back.

"You knew before I did." She agreed from the darkened dining room. "Easily as strong as you were. You were raised in luxury and safety, he was not. It may have woken it in him earlier because of that. There are people here in Stormwind capable of his training; I will speak to them in the morning."

"You think he is correct?" I turned from their room, shutting the door securely behind me. While so much seemed accurate and as much could be wagered on…such as chaos brewing, his other statement could be viewed with doubt.

"You lived in Icecrown, in the ice, with the Nerubians." She watched me. "When I saw you straight from there, you wore black armor. So. That much seems accurate. You knew a gray man there?"

"Arthas." She blinked, puzzled. Gray was never a word that could have been used to describe him before, and she had not seen him since. "Jaina, he has changed… physically as well as spiritually. His hair is white, his skin has grayed. He is no longer… beautiful, as he once was."

"I should have guessed. It's just difficult..." she shrugged. "Your eldest has his looks, though. He will be beautiful."

"They will both be."

"Of course they will both be." She tilted a brow, snorting an almost chuckle. "And perhaps, the other one will be lovely as well."

"That's not funny." I returned to the dining room, taking my seat again. "I am dead."

"There is more than one way to be a parent, Clair. You were loved by Uther, while you were not his by blood. But answer me this, which was more your father at the end, Uther or the man who sired you? You pine for Uther, mourn him, but I've never heard you mention your actual father."

"Uther was my father. He deserved that more than any have ever. My father paled in comparison to him. He was a small man." I shrugged. After leaving home, I'd been surrounded by large men. Large in hearts and souls, and I recall them in a moment. I could remember how Uther looked, smelled, sounded. Arthas, before he had fallen… also indelibly etched in my memories. Gavinrad. Baudoin. So many. Each had been great, so many were gone except in my memories. But I had to struggle to place my father, and so much of what I could recall was based in the memory that I resembled him greatly.

"Hhhmmm." She breathed. "I have another seer of the De Nemesio line warning me of a time of chaos coming."

I poured myself wine and snorted. "Of course chaos comes, Jaina. Doesn't it always? I don't need any gift or curse to see that." This was just a respite; my own words were bitter truth. I didn't need my lost abilities, or the nascent ones of my child to tell me so. "Enjoy now while you can." I muttered, and she met my eyes with dark, solemn ones.

"That is the certain truth, Clarimonde. Enjoy now, while we can." She raised her goblet to mine, and I met them rim to rim.

She stayed long enough to arrange a tutor for Bayard, and was gone well before most of Stormwind realized she'd been there. The request to come to Tirion's side came early the next morning, and I presented myself to him while he watched the initiates train from the list side. "Sir?" I asked, and he tilted his head slightly to bring me into view.

"I hear Lady Jaina was here, to speak to you…" he held up a swift hand before I could even get started, "And, of course, any discussion she may have with you can be held in the strictest of confidences. I just wanted to ask if there was anything I should know. I have put you in a place that could be considered sensitive…"

Even knowing exactly what I was, and what I wasn't. He didn't need to say that he deserved my honesty for it. "I needed her advice in regards to one of the children." I began, watching the list field that he studied so intently. "I was… gifted. Cursed, whichever you prefer, with the Sight when I was alive. By the time the Kirin Tor knew it, I was too old to be trained. I had already sworn to the Hand, and nothing would have taken me from Arthas, from Uther, from Stratholme, then. It has apparently bred true in Bayard, and I will see him trained to handle it as I was not. And no one better for that than Jaina."

"Ah." He nodded slowly, still staring at the field. "You've been back with the Order awhile now. Enough time to settle and consider where you are?"

"I am no paladin. No priest. The Light will never grant me those gifts, Highlord. Perhaps… I have no value to the Order."

He frowned instantly, his expression darkening. "Nonsense." He growled. "I will not judge you worthless just because you cannot channel the gifts that were rightfully yours once. You are handicapped because you chose to uphold your oaths when others did not. True, you cannot bring the glory of the Light forth, but you are still a member of the Order. I've spent these days watching you, Clarimonde, trying to place where you belong with us. Often we overlook our own gifts when we become enamored with what we believe are our only true gifts."

"Oh?" I couldn't wait to hear this one. What exactly did the Highlord of the Order consider my gift to be? My ability to heal had been stripped from me, replaced by its opposite. I moved in the darkness now.

"Uther never used you as a teacher, I would guess."

I blinked, fighting down my first visceral response to that. Teachers were staff, servants, paid to raise the younglings. But Uther had held them in the highest esteem… "He did." I stated, realizing that he had indeed. "When I settled with child the first time, Uther set me to teaching Baudoin etiquette. I thought then that it was just convenience. I had been injured in training, and then pregnant… He sent me to Northshire, away from Arthas. With Baudoin."

"Etiquette. Yes, you have the air of nobility about you, Lordaeron nobility from your accent." He shrugged. "And yes, our new young paladins will need polish if they are to be placed in court. You have a strong grasp of history, geography, strategy, and pass it along well. Your fighting style has changed from the rote you were taught in Stratholme. And you comprehend things that few other people in existence know. It is one thing for a paladin to teach a paladin. Another for a death knight to teach a paladin just what is outside of these walls. They hear glory stories, Clarimonde. You know the truth."

"You want me to teach here?" That was an idea I had never considered. I was no teacher…never had been. To me, the Order was paladins, supported by priests. But I had trained at Stratholme under the guidance of many who had not been either.

"I do. It is an honorable position. It keeps you here with your children. And you seem quite talented at it, an asset to the Order."

"I…see." I had no idea how to teach. I kept my puzzled stare on him, and he grinned suddenly, like the sun bursting out from the clouds.

"A great friend of mine told me once, young Clarimonde, that we never truly learn and grow in comfort. That we should always try worthy pursuits, to see if we are given to them…"

His face blurred as tears came to my eyes. "So he did." I murmured, and Tirion sighed, resting a hand on my shoulder. I could hear Uther say it again…

"We all miss him, Clarimonde." Tirion said, his eyes moving back to the field.

"Call me Clair. Arthas said that Clarimonde was too much of a mouthful to come with in a hurry. I've grown accustomed to just being called Clair." It fit me better than the pretentious name my father had given me, short and to the point.

"Clair, then. I didn't want to assume that I was allowed to use the name that your friends, your husband, use. I wanted to have you start with where our staffing lacks, in geography and history. I know it's short notice, but I'd like to start you with the new class in a week."

A week? I had no books, nothing… I gave Tirion a pained look, and he laughed in acknowledgement. "I know. Do your best. From what I hear, what you told your children as tales would be more of an education than many of these will have had. I'll see about trying to dig up some books, but the librarians here are not free with sharing."

I nodded. "Tomorrow is market day. I need to take the children for clothes anyway, I will see if there are any to be purchased."


	8. Chapter 8

Yes, my plans for the day had been to take the children to market. While the house was furnished with the barest of necessities, it did not feel like anything approaching a home. My plans did not include something I had not done in years. I overslept. I had not fed to the gluttonous excess that normally led to it, at best I should have halfheartedly dozed, at usual, I should have not slept at all. There was nothing at all natural in it, and the room was wrong when I finally managed to startle myself into wakefulness. I was not where I was supposed to be… Panic chased the remnants of sleep away from me, and I bolted up into a seated position. Where was I? I slept on the beautiful, huge fur that normally rested across the foot of Arthas's bed, where I had slept in Northrend. But the air was warm, verdant; alive… the room was not his. The bed was not either; it was luxurious but not as grand as his. I moved across a rug, deep under my bare toes, to the heavily curtained window, and peered without…straight onto the Lodge's list field. I was exactly where I had been the night before. That had not changed. The furnishings had, the house had not. "Damn you, Arthas." I hissed, and got back a perfect nothingness, too perfect. He heard me; he just chose not to reply. The pelt I had slept upon, even the position I had been left in asleep across the foot of the bed, all a signature.

Where before there had been nothing but bare windows, there now hung garnet curtains, the same color as the rug. Where there had been a serviceable, plain bed, there was now a beautifully carved four poster, with the pelt and a fine counterpane. A matching clothes press contained clothes, not the ostentatious finery he preferred, but garments suited to here.

I frowned, turning away from the press and moving onto the landing. I could hear the boys downstairs. Although it was brighter down there, and they were accustomed to waking early, neither one of them was awake. Also, unnatural. My runeblade, which had started the night beside me, had been moved into the room I'd put Jaina in. It was also not awake, and I pushed the door open to retrieve it, and blinked in disbelief.

If he'd been heavy handed in his treatment of my room, it was overshadowed by this room. It was obviously meant to be my office; indeed, the desk I had used in Northrend was pushed under the great southern window, giving the best natural light. Two much smaller desks faced it, and the walls were lined with cabinets, their doors solid wood except for the one closest to me. It contained instruments, a sextant, an astrolabe, but my eyes were locked on the most stunning two, a paired set of orreries, in motion. Although I had never seen these exact two, or their equal, for each was a work of art, I recognized the model of one… as the world of Azeroth, her twinned moons moving in their orbits. The other one, I did not recognize.

I turned away, moving towards the desk. My runeblade rested on a stand on it, while another blade was laid across its surface, its hilt the paperweight for a single sheet of vellum. I recognized his handwriting, as if I needed to… Two short lines, "Teach them well. Everything you need is here now." No signature, but I did not need one.

I took the blade up, turning it over carefully. Again, a paragon of craftsmanship and art, but nothing more, as if a masterwork could be called such. No runes marked its surface, no magic flowed through it. It could not be misunderstood, misconstrued, or accurately identified as the runeblade could be. It was a sword, nothing more, nothing less. Graceful in my hand, perfectly balanced. It had been engraved, and I turned it to the light, chuckling when I made out the etching. So true, and yet so cautious… "To Clarimonde De Nemesio, for her service to Lordaeron and the royal Menethil family, from Prince Arthas Menethil." It could have been granted a decade ago, when all was well, rather than this morning, when things were not… a sword to wear openly. I turned to the nearest cabinet, snorting at the carved decorations of frost wyrms in its doors, and pulled it open. Of course, the mundane armor to go with the sword. Nothing but the best, dragonmail, mostly black scales, spangled with blue, green and red like a starry sky, the greaves from flat belly scales, alternating colors. The next cabinet held books, as did each of the others, most of them imprinted with the Royal library's embossing, looted in the fall of Lordaeron. I could ask for no more…. Or so I thought.

I went downstairs to check on the boys, their room was no different. They were untouched, exactly as I had left them. In the alcove next to them, however, was the chest which had rested in my room at Brill, and the dining room table groaned under the weight of my mother's matched silver and pewter services, marked with the De Nemesio pattern of apples, pears and bees.

"Mama?" Anelas's voice, panic edged and slurry… I moved to him quickly. "I don't feel quite right." He murmured, resting his warm forehead against my shoulder when I leaned close to the bunk bed. "Think I'm sick, sorry."

I doubted that, fairly certain that he was trying to come out from under whatever had been done to him to make him sleep, but unwell was unwell. "Why sorry, little one?" I asked, resting a cool hand on his forehead. He did feel a little warmer than he ought…

"You wanted to go shopping. Bay did. I did…" His violet eyes were miserable. "And now we're not. Bay's going to hate me for it."

I glanced down at his brother. "I think, Kier, whatever you've got, he's got. Let me start some tea, and we'll decide later." I moved to the kitchen, glaring at the table as I passed it by. Foolish, foolish men, all of them. Rather than just tell me he had gifts for me, so I could arrange their arrival, this was somehow better. Now I was stuck with a sick seven year old, and unless I wrong, even worse, a sick six year old… and the absolute worst, both. I shook my head, digging through my old kit. Even as a paladin, with the gift of healing at my fingertips, I had learned medicines. Now, I thanked Uther for what had seemed then like a worthless redundancy, preparing a strong tea to settle heads, stomachs, and bring down a fever. Anelas made an evil face when I brought it, but swallowed it quickly.

I had consigned myself to staying in when the knock came at the door, and I glanced out the window… who? Tirion. I cursed under my breath, pulling the door open a few inches and peering at him.

"You're late." He stated without greeting. "And you look like hell. I was going to accompany you to the bookseller's to let them know to put your purchases on our tab… I expected you hours ago."

"The boys are not well today." I grumbled, and he gave me the immediate expression I expected from a paladin being told that young ones were ill, his face went sad and bull stubborn all at the same time.

"And you did not come to get me? Let me see them." There was no stopping him; it would be the same as trying to turn Uther so I merely stepped out of his way and let him go. He made a beeline for their room, and stared for a long moment at Anelas. He murmured a prayer over both of them before backing from the room and jerking his head in my direction.

"What did you do to them?" he growled, and I almost considered taking the blame as an out. It would save so many problems, and I could claim, truthfully, that I was unprepared to raise two young ones like this without help. It was logical, it was almost sane, but I could not do it.

"I did not do it. They were like this when I woke up."

He stared at me for a long moment, probably unaware that he was locked in a combat stance, before dropping it and sitting at one of the trestles beside the piled up table. He did not seem to find anything at all amiss with the wealth just inches behind him, oblivious to it. "What happened, then?" He finally asked, running fingers through his silvering hair. "You are correct. You did not do this, and you are not foolish enough to not hide it better if you did."

I arched a brow. That was a sideways compliment if I had ever heard one, and I wasn't certain I liked it. "I woke up this morning…normally I do not sleep, and if I do, it is very lightly, but last night I slept…" I shrugged ruefully, "Like the dead, as it were. And I woke up here, which is not as it was when I went to sleep."

"How so?" He asked, and I fought the urge to laugh at him outright.

"Behind you rest the services that were locked in the silver safe at my parent's home in Brill. That chest…" I pointed at it, "I last saw when I birthed Bayard. It rested at the foot of my bed. Come with me." I climbed the steps, silently, throwing the door to the bedroom open, and carried on to the office without pause. I opened the doors to the book cabinets on my way to stare out of the window behind the desk, farthest from the door. Tirion moved in, pulling books at random from their shelves, flipping them open, and then carefully replacing them. He ran appreciative fingertips down the armor, then sighed gustily.

"Arthas." He stated, "Has decided to not let you go as neatly as I'd hoped. He gifts you with at least part of the Royal Library."

"Hmmmm." It was difficult, nigh unto impossible, to lie to a good paladin. Even a noncommittal noise such as that did not work. I could feel him bristle behind me when I tried it.

"You've been in contact with him since coming back to us." He accused slowly, and I turned on him.

"You make it sound as if I can stop him, Tirion! You didn't expect him to let me live after leaving him." I hissed, well aware that the children were right beneath me. "You would take me away, uphold your word to Uther, Arthas would destroy me for it, and you could bury me in consecrated ground and call me liberated because of it. I would be at rest. Nice, clean, over. It's not that easy."

"What did he tell you, Clair?" He moved to the orreries, watching them. "What am I missing? You're right. I either expected him to let you go, destroy you, or reclaim you completely. Holding on without having you doesn't make any sense to me."

I slid the ring from my finger, extending it towards him, and when he glanced at it, he flinched. "As long as there is an Arthas, and as long as there is a Clarimonde, he will own me. He has told me I am permitted to leave Icecrown because my children, his child, need me. He tells me that Baudoin is mortal, and that I am not. One day, my children will be adults, Baudoin will be dead, and he will still be there. I will still be there. This is just a respite, but it is one I treasure and thank you for. Do you still want me to teach?"

"I do. I have an awkward question I would find useful if you would answer me it. If you choose not to then I will not ask again."

Awkward questions were always the most interesting ones; I tilted my head in curiosity.

"You bore Arthas's son, which leaves little room to deny a certain… intimacy… with him. You bear his signet ring, which implies likewise. What did he consider you to be?"

I sat in the chair behind the desk, and studied its shining surface. "The child was a…" I shrugged, loath to call him a mistake when he so obviously wasn't. "I loved Arthas. He was lonely. A lot of alcohol thrown in. By then I was already considering Baudoin, Uther disapproved of Arthas and me being together. Things happened. After that, I fasted with Baudoin, and we had Bayard. Things didn't change until after Stratholme, he brought me back to his bed then. When Muradin asked, he called me his mistress. When I died, he told me I should have been his queen." I wasn't quite certain where he was going with this, so I didn't know what an answer was. Obviously, as he'd said, Anelas's birth implied a great deal. What it mattered now…

"Very well then, Clarimonde." He finally stated, "Arthas gave you the ring. He named you as his mistress in front of another nation's royalty. You bore his son. As the Highlord of the Order of the Silver Hand, I inform you now that I view you as Lordaeron's ruler in exile, regent of the heir."

I chuckled at the words, although I felt Arthas's undivided interest suddenly and there was a distinct lack of mirth from him. "Means little now, Tirion. Lordaeron has fallen. It rots."

"So it does. But it means that these items are rightfully yours, until your son is old enough to claim them. Keep them safe, and use them well. Now, your children are feeling much better, the younger one awakes. Take them shopping."


	9. Chapter 9

I did, buying them the clothes they so desperately needed, and the candy that they didn't, but it made them smile. And since I'd rarely seen that, I would venture to say that yes, they did need it too. I contracted a carpenter to come and build shelves in the dining room to show off the pewter and cabinets to keep the silver safe and out of sight. A paladin's wife, still clinging to a certain level of prosperity, would have the pewter, the silver…no. His work was good, and I was carefully wiping down the pewter and arranging it when I heard the first hissed whisper guaranteed to get every mother's attention.

"Bay. It's dirty. Get rid of it, before Mama sees it."

Oh, yes. Definitely. I moved silently, barefooted, over the plank floors. Bayard sat on the front steps, hunched over something, his shoulder turned to his brother. "Shut up, Kieran. Don't be mean. It's the only one left."

"And it's not going to be for long. Bay…"

"What have you got there, Bayard?" I demanded in a perfectly normal voice, and they both jumped.

"Nothing, Mama." He lied as well as any six year old did, and I thrust out a hand. His eyes filled with tears, but the look he gave his brother was pure murder. "Mama, please…"

"Give it to me."

He stood, his chin trembling, before he finally relinquished the prize. It proved to be a kitten, and his brother was correct, it was not long for the world. And his brother was also correct…it was filthy. Its eyes were matted shut, and bubbles rose from its nostrils as it struggled to breathe. Its color was anyone's guess.

"Bay does this all the time." Anelas shrugged, and I wrapped the kitten in my apron. I gained the same murderous stare for just a second, until Bayard broke and ran.

"Stay here, keep an eye on him, and I'll take care of this." I stated, and he nodded. I knew he thought I'd dispose of the kitten, as a farm family would have in an instant, but I went instead to the druids living in the park and sought one to fix it.

As a child edging into young womanhood, I had disliked elves. They made me feel small, graceless, clumsy and unattractive, and I had resented them for it. Time had changed that, while I knew the young druid I was pointed to was attractive, she did not make me feel less for it. "What brings you to me?" She asked, flicking her green hair back from her eyes and peering at me warily. "You are…unnatural." She grumbled, taking a step back. "No reason for such as you to come to me." She paused at the verge of shooing me away, but caught herself, and contented herself with a narrow eyed glare.

"My son found a kitten. It is ill." I stated, pulling it from my apron pocket and offering it to her. Her distance evaporated immediately, she crowded up to me and gently took it from my hands.

"Ah. Yes. She has the cough going around, settled deep in her lungs. The rest of the litter?" She held it up and peered intently at it.

"I was told she is the only one left."

The druid's face fell, but she waved fingers over it until they glowed the same green as fireflies, trailing paths of luminescence behind them. "There." She murmured. "She needs a bath. And to be kept clean, dry, warm. But she should make it. Come, let us bathe her and see what we have."

The kitten proved to be a lovely, fluffy tortoiseshell, with canny sea green eyes. "There." The druid sighed, handing her back to me. "Take good care of her."

She was much feistier on the way home, mewling angrily and climbing the bodice of my dress while I fought to contain her. "Bayard." I yelped when I finally made it home, but only Anelas appeared.

"He's…." His eyes caught on the kitten and widened. "Sulking." He finished, jerking his chin at their room's door. "Got him another one? He won't fall for it. Never does."

"No." I hissed, "Same damn cat… Bayard!"

He appeared in the doorway, and indeed, was sulking. You could land a griffon on his lower lip, his eyes hidden in his mane of walnut brown hair. "Here." I snapped. "Take her before she claws my face off."

He carefully took hold of her, removing her from my clothing, and stared at her suspiciously for a long moment. "Same cat." I growled when he looked at me dubiously. "She just feels much, much better. She needs to be kept dry and warm until she's completely well."

"I can….keep…her?"

I paused. I had always had pets, kittens, grown into regal cats. Hounds. Finely bred ponies. The estates had filled with life, and I had been raised alongside it. "Certainly. You did want her, didn't you? She proved to be a pretty little thing under all that filth…"

The kitten vanished into his embrace, and he wrapped his free arm around my thighs, letting go of sobs when he did. "It's just fine, Bayard." I soothed, "Go take care of her. I have work to do, so I'll be upstairs until lunchtime."

Baudoin had still not returned by the time I stepped into a classroom to meet my students. I missed him greatly; this idea made me nervous and I would have liked to discuss it with him. Even though I knew what his words would be, it wasn't the same as hearing them from his lips. I didn't even have my own experiences from Stratholme to lean on; my tutors from home had done such a fine job that I had never really sat a class in the Order that didn't involve warfare or the finer points of the Light.

Stubborn youngsters make the finest paladins, I was stubborn. Arthas, definitely. Baudoin, as well. Initiates tended to be stubborn and confrontational, I should have been expecting it, but I was still used to my father showing me the back of his hand for speaking out of turn to the help. There were five of them, four young men and one young woman. The girl looked at me with a puzzled, wary hope, while the largest of the young men stared at me with open amusement and more than a little inappropriate interest. He was spoiling for a fight, and managed to mangle even my innocuous opening state, after I'd introduced myself, into it. Somehow, "We'll start this morning with Lordaeron's geography…" was the entrance to trouble.

"Why?" He demanded, and I blinked. Why? Well, first, because I had said so. Secondly, because, to me at least, that made the most sense. Humanity had begun on the land mass currently named Lordaeron. When I got into history, it helped if they understood what Arathi was like, where Strom was, the tactical and strategic implications of its terrain…

"Why?" I echoed slowly.

"Don't you know something useful? What do you teach?" He ground on, while at least one of the other young men grinned. The two others were silent, the girl was appalled.

"I am here to teach you geography and history." My tone remained mild. I'd get payment for this soon; I just wanted to know right now what he considered to be useful.

"Geography. Do you know the geography of Northrend? Draenor?"

Yes to the first, intimately. Vaguely to the second, I knew enough after perusing the materials that Arthas had given me to know that the second, foreign orrery modeled Draenor. I possessed maps for the world, and had looked at them. Not deeply enough to accurately teach them.

"I am extremely familiar with Northrend, and have detailed maps of Draenor." It was not the answer he was expecting; by the way he leaned back from me and arched his brows. He was a big one, almost as big as Baudoin, with a shock of straw brown hair and roughly hewn features. A farm boy, sure enough.

"So teach that. That's where we're going, that's what we need to know."

"Firstly. We are from Azeroth. This geography represents our lands, lands the Order holds sacred. We still fight here, boy, and the final reason we fight is for here. And it's crime to not know where you're from. Secondly, I cannot teach you history until you understand the lands that those events took place in. I don't intend to teach history piecemeal, we start at the beginning, and the beginning for us is here."

"But…." He began again, and I shook my head. He'd gotten his explanation, which should have been more than enough.

"Do you know where the list field is?" I demanded, and he nodded happily. Of course he knew where that was. "And do you know how to find the master of the list?" Again, the same nod. Why wasn't I surprised? Time to see if the Stormwind Lodge ran the same as Stratholme's had. "Go to him now. Tell him I sent you, I'm sure you'd rather be there than here, anyway."

I guess he would, judging by the speed he jumped to his feet and left. I watched him go, then turned the others. "Anyone else?" They were not as foolish as he was, each clinging stubbornly to their seats, and I nodded, returning to geography. Discipline was not the concern of the classroom teachers. Those responsible for creating paladins were responsible for discipline, and to be sent from a classroom to the master of the list was tantamount to begging for punishment. He wouldn't do it again.

He was back the next morning, sullen and hunched. "My apologies, Lady." He breathed when I passed by, and I only nodded. He waited almost an hour before stepping into the breach again, but this time his attack was subtle in comparison to his earlier attempt. "Mistress." He began, and I sighed, hearing the opening in his voice.

"Yes, Kallum?" I asked.

"What are you? I mean, in the Order. Most of our teachers are paladins, but you wear a dress. Are you a paladin? Or just a woman?"

What an interesting view…paladin…or just a woman. What choices. This one was definitely a work in progress. "Boy, use the word just attached to the word woman again, and I make you fear me more than you do the master of the list. As for your question, I was a paladin but am no longer. I have this position because I am the one most qualified to teach you, and because I serve the Order."

"You were a paladin, once." Those words had all of their attentions. Like most not raised close to the Order, they probably did not understand that it was possible to leave it, or stay with it and lay down the duty of a paladin. Had I survived, I don't know if I would have remained faithful to my oaths. Stratholme had been too much to bear. "How is that possible?"

"Many of us did not maintain our oaths through the fall of Lordaeron and the purge. The Order does not fault us for that… It was a time of uncommon hardship, and none of you whelps has the right to judge, so don't even think about it." I spun on him, stalking towards him. "All you need to know, boy, is that I can wield a sword as well as anyone here…so shut it." I glared, and he paled. Ouch, I'd delved into the wellspring of the gifts of my death, practiced on the lesser of those who served Arthas. My disapproval could be more than just that, Arthas had made me to lead his armies in his absence. "Anyway." I stated, returning to my slate board. "What's with this…just woman...idea?"

"He's probably one of those idiots who think we're good for nothing but babes, cooking and cleaning. You were a paladin, so you're smarter than that…" the young woman, Marieth, finally spoke, "Coming to the Order to do none of that, you've got no man, no babes, no house to tend…" Not only was she blatantly wrong, she made it sound like a wonderful proposition and I sighed again. No man. To turn away from the joy that Baudoin had brought me. No babes, when I had tried so hard to have the ones I did, and mourned having no more… more sons with Baudoin's dark hair and puzzled eyes, no daughters. No house…

There was a disturbance outside, and I moved to the window overlooking it, ignoring the students as they did likewise. A paladin rode through the list field, shining and glorious… Baudoin.

"Who is that?" Kallum demanded, awed.

"Baudoin, the Ironfist." I stated, "You're excused. All of you. Go." It was close enough, and I was now too distracted to even play at geography. I dashed down the steps to the field, feeling the students behind me, but I didn't care. He was home. Safe.

I bolted into the open, and his charger picked up speed the moment I became visible, stepping from a high trot to a canter. It slid to a stop before me and Baudoin threw himself from his saddle, dropping his helm as he did so. "Clarimonde!" He turned my name into a proclamation and a prayer. "You look wonderful. As always. All is well?"

"Now that you are here, yes." I could see the students, Kallum, if possible, more awed, and Marieth…betrayed. "Come home, Baudoin." I would deal with Marieth later, but right now, Baudoin was home.

"Those words are lovely to hear, Clair." He grinned, banishing the charger and falling into step beside me. "You had business with the Order?" There was worry under that question.

"I work for the Order. Tirion has decided my gifts lead me to teach the initiates history and geography so far. He hints at more to come later." I led the way to the house, stepping within. "Home."

"Very nice." He lied, his eyes never shifting from me. "Help me unharness." I did so, resting his armor on the table, before turning and letting him envelop me in the embrace he'd been itching for since he'd seen me. "Where are the boys?" He asked, but then made it difficult to answer by kissing me.

"School." I managed. We'd had precious little time alone, from when he'd come to me at Theramore. "For another two hours." More than enough time for what he had in mind…

"And do you still…?"

Silly question. I felt…more than I had when I was alive. Pain, and otherwise. "I do." Was all I said.


	10. Chapter 10

"Papa!" Bayard shouted when he caught sight of his father, sitting at the table. "You're back! Look…" he stared around, flitting from room to room until he finally caught up with the kitten, "Look what Mama let me have! Her name is Apple."

That was news to me. I just called it the cat, and since she was the only one, there was no difficulty. "Apple, huh?" Baudoin asked, taking the kitten from him and spending an appropriate amount of time inspecting it. "Doesn't look like an apple to me. Looks like a cat."

"Hah. I named her after Mama's favorite food. Her papa raised apples, you know."

"Yes, I did know that." Baudoin chuckled, placing the kitten back on the floor. "You're in school now?"

Bayard grinned, clinging to him. "I go to school. Special school in the morning, regular school later, with Kieran. It's fun. I like Stormwind, they have a big market weekly, and Mama took us and bought us clothes and candy. There are lots of kids, and lots of paladins." He looked at me winningly. "I bet since you're home, Mama will make that pie again, the one she made for the lady. It's good. She can cook, you know?"

"Yes, I did know that." Baudoin repeated, smiling paternally at him. "Go find your brother and let him know I'm back…" He barely had time to get it out before the child was gone. "Special school?" He asked slowly, and I flinched. "Damn." He breathed, "I am sorry, Clair. I really am… I wish there had been somewhere else to put them. That place smothered me; I know it was not good for them…"

I sat across from him, sighed deeply. "It isn't that, Baudoin. It's worse. My parents didn't notice it when I did it, but I noticed when I saw him do it. He has the Sight, as I did. I called Jaina in, for I won't see him put through what I was."

"Bayard?" He sounded stunned, "Not Kieran, but Bayard? My Bay? But…."

"Bayard. Not Kieran. Bayard." The only child I would give him, and I had cursed him. He was correct; it would be easier if it were Arthas's. That one deserved all the trouble we could give him. "I am sorry, Baudoin. I blighted the only child we will ever have…."

I had seen Baudoin rage before, but never at me. He locked me with blazing eyes, furious, and I wished I was not seated, so I could sidle away from him. "Clarimonde." He ground out, and I grimaced. No, not the Clarimonde snarl. My father had used it when I had fouled up. "I don't think you have the slightest idea how happy you made me with Bayard. You are so blind sometimes. I knew the moment I saw you that you were more than I could ever hope to have, but you never saw that. You went from Arthas, to me. And you had my son, a perfect, beautiful child. He is not blighted, damn you. How dare you give him candy and kittens, and think on some level that there is something wrong with him because he is like you?"

"I didn't want him to be like me. I wanted him to be like you."

He stood up slowly, reached across the table and pillowed my cheek in his hand. "Clair. I pray that one of these days you will understand what I feel. You live in grace and never seem to notice it. You throw children so beautiful that my sister in law's heart burned in jealousy, children so bright… just like you… yet you find fault with them. You were so bloody gifted then, bright, beautiful, noble, and as if that was not enough, you were born with the Sight. Uther told me once that our gifts often seem like onerous weights when he tried to explain you to me. That you dwelt on your shortcomings, and never opened your eyes to the things that were obvious to all of us. You believed you got Arthas because he was drunk, not because you were beautiful, not because he loved you beforehand. You believed Uther loved you because he was honor bound to, as if that kind of love can be forced. You rail against the idea that your life is unfair, that you are unloved, or unworthy, and don't seem to realize the obvious."

"Which is?" I asked softly, and the rage faded from him as quickly as it had come.

"Most of your problems come from the fact that you are loved and considered worthy…by too many. Uther would not consider the idea that you might be better off with the Kirin Tor, because that would mean sending you away. Arthas would not leave you at Stratholme, he asked for you to go on with him. When you died, he would not let you stay dead. You are torn because too many fight over you… You are valued. Just remember, Clair. I love you. The children do, and they deserve you…." He frowned, looking around. "And don't forget… little one… that your money no longer grows on trees."

"I did not buy this. Much of it is from the Brill estate. Its appearance here, as well as many of the items….liberated….from Lordaeron City can be traced to Arthas, who apparently decided it should find its way to me. The rest I believe are gifts from him." I sat, my head bowed for a time, until Baudoin barked a laugh that contained no mirth. I looked at him, definitely no amusement. "What?" I asked, and he shrugged.

"Six years, I dreamed of you. Waited for you. Imagined what I would do if I could get you back. And when I do, I blow up at you."

"Baudoin. It does not matter; I am not so fragile that I doubt you from a few sharp words. But, I have a pie to make."

I was up bright and early the next morning, sending the children off and heading to my classroom, leaving Baudoin to sleep in the darkness of our bedroom. I was early, expecting to spend time preparing for the day's lesson when Tirion called my name from his office door.

"Yes, Highlord?" I asked, frowning when I saw that Marieth stood in his office.

"Clarimonde. Join us. Your perspective will help, I think. You should know Marieth…"

"I do." I took the chair he motioned to. "Is there a problem?" There was, I could sense it. He should be on the lists; she should be still in barracks. My perspective?

"Marieth came to us for the same reasons that many young women do," He glanced at me, puzzled. "To leave the farm. To…."

"Not need to look to a man forever." She snapped when his voice faded. "To not have a baker's dozen of babes hanging from my skirts. To not marry."

He grimaced, drawing meandering circles on his desk with the point of his finger. "Somehow, Marieth has decided that the Order does not fulfill that desire. And somehow, she has decided that because of you, although she will not tell me why. I do not know you well enough to speak for you, and she won't discuss it with me… So, why did you come to the Order? Perhaps that will help…"

I grinned. "I had grown tired of the men my father was allowing to pay to court to me. They were all… wrong. I didn't know it then, but my father was in trouble. He was looking for a place to send me. He sent me to Stratholme to try to attract the Prince's eye, and if I was in the Lightbringer's custody, the estates would remain whole. So, no, I came to the Order for all the wrong reasons." I reined back on the grin, stared at her. "But I fail to see how I could suddenly cause her to lose faith in the Order…"

She spat. "I thought I could come to the Order and be what I wanted. Free from a man. No cooking, no cleaning, no babes. Now I see that the women paladins are nothing more than the herd that the men choose their brides from. You were a paladin, you said so yourself, but no longer. You fall all over yourself to get down the stairs when that one came. I'm betting he got you swollen with babe, they made you give up being a paladin for it, and now you're with him…."

Tirion tilted his head at me, and I shrugged. "Baudoin is home." I stated, and he nodded in comprehension. "Now. You think… I got myself caught, and the Order pushed me away for it?"

She nodded quickly, her blue eyes narrowed.

"Wrong." I disagreed, shaking my head. "You are correct, Baudoin is my husband. I have children, and I still served the Order as a paladin after the first one was born. The Order will not tell you to settle with a man and have them; likewise, they will not tell you not to. I chose to have children. I wanted them, badly. My union with Baudoin was blessed by Uther, my children were welcomed, and I was still a paladin. You think I am a fool for wanting a man, for wanting children, and that is your bias. Do not label me empty headed because of what I desired. Happiness is getting what you want, not what others tell you to want. You telling me I should not want them because I was a paladin is the same as your father telling the opposite! Equally wrong. Equally blind. I did not leave the Order because I had children. I did not leave the Order because I married…"

"Then why did you leave it?" She asked, and Tirion became very still, very quiet. Once I had died and the gifts of the Light no longer flowed, the Light itself had spoken against me. But again, I was certain it had happened before then… I just hadn't given it enough time to grow.

"I left the Order because of Stratholme." I managed through numb lips, and Tirion's face became calm and guarded. "I was given a choice, I made it, and I did then what I felt I had to do. I tore out my heart and soul to do it. I turned away from the man I considered to be my father when I did it. To this day, I don't see another option, a right way, or even a less wrong way. I burned the city I called home to the ground, with her population in it, and I cannot ever consider being called upon to do it again. The idea makes me sick inside. Do not ever think I left the Order from something as small as babies, as a man. I was raised by Uther the Lightbringer. I came back to the Order after I died on the list field when my back was broken in a training accident. My faith, my resolve, was not weak as yours seems to be, little girl. I broke with the Order after I participated in the cleansing of Stratholme. You want to leave like a whelp with your tail between your legs because you think we'll make you cook and clean. And you're right, we will…otherwise you'll eat your food raw and live in filth. Grow up, and stop telling the Highlord I am the reason you want to leave the Order."

Tirion sighed, shaking his head. "Marieth. You will not be told by the Order to marry. Likewise, as Clarimonde just pointed out, you will not be told not to. It is a choice, and to dictate either side is wrong. The Order welcomes our members' children, such as Clarimonde's sons. We bless her marriage with one of our paladins, as a choice they both made. We see our members as the finest of the fine, and for us to not support their decision to continue their blood would be a wrong. Also, I may be wrong, but I believe Clarimonde bore the responsibility of providing her noble family line with at least one heir when she decided to have children."

I nodded. "I did. I was my line's only. My family served Lordaeron faithfully for generations. I needed an heir for my estates. And, why would I deny myself Baudoin? I assure you, Marieth, my decision to go after him was strictly selfish. I wanted him. I chased him, not really the other way around." The grin came again. "Not that he was difficult to catch."

Tirion chuckled, shaking his head. "Poor boy probably never knew what hit him. But yes, Marieth." He looked drawn, pained, for a long moment. "There are plenty of good reasons for a paladin to decide to leave the Order. We are coming out of a time of great loss for us. Clarimonde came out of the same Lodge as Uther, as Arthas… Stratholme. She was called upon to make a decision I pray you will never have to make, a decision with no right answer. She was a paladin, she rode from Brill just a week after her youngest was born, to bring the word of the plague to the Capital. None of her decisions were dishonorable, and I count us lucky to still have her here. She is no paladin anymore, true, but do not assume that came from a small reason." He sighed, straightened the ink well on his desk. "So, Clarimonde, Baudoin has returned?"

"He has, safe and sound. Light be blessed."

He nodded, turning away from me and studying the field beyond his window. "Indeed. May your family be blessed, Clarimonde. Now, you have your truth, Marieth. Do with it what you will…and I assume you came in early for a reason, Clair, so I will let you both get on with your day. Thank you."

She followed me out, head low. "You think I'm an idiot." She stated, and I almost answered a wholehearted yes. How could she think that I had left the Order over something like that? Admittedly, I had let my heart lead me in ways logic would have pulled me away from, but I would not turn away from my actions. It had not been wise to love any of them, Uther, Arthas, even Baudoin.

"I think…" How exactly to put this? "You let your past color the world around you. You never stopped to consider any other way but the way you saw. You took two facts…one, that I left the Order, and two, that I am married, and made a decision based upon them. A wrongful one. I can guarantee you that if having a child meant I would no longer be in the Order; my husband would have never touched me. He's foolish that way."

She laughed, and I gazed at her curiously, then shrugged. "Marieth." I breathed, when I drew close to the classroom door. "There is no crime, no sin, in being a woman. None in loving a man. None in bearing and loving children. The crimes come from when that is not your will. And for you, the crime is to believe that all who decided to do so are either spineless or foolish. Respect their choice. Now, run along or you'll be late to my class, and I will not excuse you for it."

Baudoin was home when I arrived, which was odd. Normally his duties would hold him at the Lodge longer than mine did; and I preferred to be home when the children arrived. "Clair." He stated, and I knew that tone brought with it disaster. What had gone wrong? I sensed nothing at all amiss…. "Tell me of your father."

I grimaced, shaking my head. Normally that was answer enough, but not now. Baudoin was unbendable. "My father. Manipulated, connived, used those around him. Some times he was wonderful, when he bothered to notice I was around. Most times he didn't. Some times he did, and it was bad. He wanted what he could get out of me, and it wasn't much." Why was this suddenly so important to him?

"And you look like him?"

"I do." Again, what difference did that make? My father had never denied me. He'd said more than his fair share of nasty, but he'd never once insinuated that I wasn't his.

"A man claiming to be Aaron De Nemesio approached me on the list field this morning. A man who resembles you, and had knowledge of the last entry left in your estate's ledgers."

I sat down abruptly, not even bothering to make certain I was anywhere near a chair. I wasn't, but the rug was enough. "My father is in Stormwind? He's alive?"

"He said he was here to see the children. If he has the ledger then…"

The ledger, the main archive for the family estates. I'd been so proud to inscribe the birth of my children on the same pages that had recorded my birth, what a fool I was. No, they deserved to be on those pages the same as I was. "I will deal with this, Baudoin. I doubt if he's here for any good reason."

I moved onto the streets, following my senses. The man was bound to me by blood, easy to find. I found him in one of the better inns, not the best, but definitely far from the worst in town. He sat with a dour, still faced man in his middle age, and I reined back my temper. Priest. Not strong enough to put up a fight, but strong enough to realize what I was, and more importantly, what I wasn't. The ones in Stormwind knew of my existence of course, the Order had vouched for me, and they chose to studiously ignore my presence in their lovely city.

"Father." I announced my arrival in an even voice. The priest did not so much as twitch, but my father jumped out of his skin, knocking over his chair as he scrambled to his feet.

"Clari….." he stared at me for a long moment. "Monde. No, who are you?" His face, so much like my own, fell into wary confusion. He recognized me, but then, he didn't. It had been nine years, and life had not been kind to me. He, however, looked little changed, and rage built in my soul. It was not fair. How dare he, wastrel and pathetic excuse for a man, run free and healthy while Uther rested dead? How dare he come here, where my family settled?

"Nice try." I stated, locking eyes with the priest. He was, of course, staring at me. "Aaron De Nemesio. My father. What are you doing here?"

While my gaze did not waver, the priest's did, to my father. "Aaron." He stated calmly. "Is this not your daughter? She has your looks, and her soul is linked to yours. I would say she was."

"My daughter was small. Delicate. Easily overlooked…" My father sputtered, and I took the empty seat at their table. Yes, I had been all of the above, when I had lived. Arthas had chosen to recreate me in a more impressive physical package than I had been born in, the better to do his bidding with.

I grinned, finally dragging my gaze from the priest. He was cautious, he'd watch until he was certain what was going on. "I've grown. But I am still Clarimonde De Nemesio. Now…again, Father. What are you doing here? And why are you approaching Baudoin?" I suspected I knew the answer, but I needed to get him to admit it first. I doubted if he realized how much of his property I possessed. But I was certain he knew of the children, and unlike the silver, they were not negotiable.

"I have come to find my grandsons." He stated finally, simply. "The ledger records their births."

I knew that, I had been the one to write those records. Again, a grin. "Well, you've found me in their stead." I noted slowly. "Now what?" He had not been counting on finding me, only Baudoin.

"Clarimonde. The last entry in the ledger had you following Arthas to Northrend… I did not expect to find you alive at all."

A subtle change in the priest's expression gave it away, yes, he did know. He found the statement amusing because he knew my father had not found me alive. And, he found my father amusing, fascinating. "Hmmm." I shrugged, noncommittally. "Well, I am here. Now what?"

"I want to see my grandsons."

"No." It felt damn good to deny him something, anything. The power was glorious, so much more visceral than the power given to me as a paladin, and more righteous than the power that Arthas gave me. The indignation of a child bled over to a mother.

"No?" He echoed, and I nodded. No. The answer to that was no.

"No." I repeated. "Why would I let you see my children?"

He sat back down; sending the priest a hopeful glance, but the man only studied him in return. After receiving no aid from that quarter, he looked back at me. "Why would you not?" He asked, and I fought a plethora of answers.

"You are a miserable excuse for a human being, and an even worse excuse for a parent." I settled on, swallowing the stream of bile and hate I wanted to shriek at him. How dare he come to me? How dare he sit across from me and breathe? "The finest decision you ever made as a parent was to give me away to another man to raise. And now you want…" I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes as I followed what I knew. "You came here to take them away from Baudoin." He'd traveled all of the way to Stormwind to find Baudoin. That wasn't just a trip to see them and then leave. He stood to gain something; my father never put this sort of effort towards anything that didn't return on his investment.

He leaned back, studying me cautiously. "Baudoin can keep his son if he wishes." He stated, and I swallowed. Baudoin's son was Bayard… "But," he continued, "The ledger makes it obvious that your eldest is not his. The ledger also makes it fairly obvious who the eldest does belong to. There was no other reason for Terenas to grant you lands, that much land, so soon after his birth. You bore Arthas's son, congratulations."

Yes, congratulations. I didn't bother to bleed the expression from my face. Congratulations for what? I had borne the child of a man painted as a monster now, universally despised, every one of his finer points forgotten. I didn't see much cause for celebration…

"And, unless I am completely misled, the child is about the same age as the heir to Stormwind? King Varian's son? So, in Stormwind, we have the Wrynn heir and the Menethil heir, both boys, both the same age. Clarimonde, the possibilities are obvious…"

"No." Absolutely not. Uther had been correct, royalty came to bad ends. History upheld that view. There was no reason to expose Anelas to any of this, Lordaeron had fallen. Royalty in exile, how pathetic, how empty. I'd prefer to see him raised as a child of the Order, without lingering on a birthright stolen from him. That would lead to bitterness, anger… no. I would give Arthas no more ground to corrupt the child than he already had as his sire, I would give Anelas a fighting chance. "You fool." I hissed. "Keep out of things you do not understand."

"I understand this perfectly well, Clarimonde. You have the pieces you need, use them."

"By what? Going to the Regent? Telling him who Kieran is? What good would that do?" None.

"It would put your child on equal footing with Prince Anduin, little girl." He touched the tip of my nose as he always had when he lectured me, and I very nearly sank my teeth into the offending digit. Still, he treated me like I was a slow child. I had ceased to be anyone's little girl a long time ago. I had rested in the lands of the dead. I brought death by my passage…

"By informing Fordragon that the Lich King's son resides within his walls?"

"By informing Fordragon that Terenas's grandson resides within his walls. That the Menethil line persists, in spite of Arthas's fall."

"No."

"So this is all you want? Fasted companion of a paladin? Two bastard whelps? Neither of them married you, little girl. Don't think I missed that in all of this. You seek to raise our heirs in what? A house the Order allows you to live in, but that is not truly yours? You raise our heirs on what your paladin lifted from our estates, and the handouts from the Order…"

"What you suggest is no different, only in your plan the handouts come from the Crown of Stormwind and not the Order. At least I worked for the Order, which makes it payment and not charity..." I had bled, cried and sweat for the Order. I had died for them. "I will not turn my son into an oddity. Something to be watched, spoken about behind his back. I will not give his father that kind of power, which is something you will never comprehend. You are too foolish, too blind, too selfish to see what is at stake. Let me put it in very small words that you may understand, Father. I am not an enemy you wish to have, cross me and you will know that." There was too much rage building, the inn was becoming stifling, too much alive, too much to kill. I stood swiftly, pushing my way away from the table and out into the balmy twilight. Fool. Blithering, selfish fool. Later. I'd deal with it, later.

Of course, that assumed I could deal with it later. I underestimated my father, and I overestimated Arthas. It was a mistake I would not make again.

"Clarimonde. My office, please." It was important enough for Tirion to call me out of a class, and while his voice was even and pleasant, he bristled with admirably restrained anger. I trailed him in silence, but paused when I identified the man in his office. The prince's regent, Bolvar Fordragon….

"Clarimonde De Nemesio." Tirion introduced me abruptly, and did not wait for the Regent to give acknowledgement. "Do you know what this is, Clarimonde?" He snapped, snatching a scroll box from his desk and holding it firmly in my field of vision. I stared at it, then shrugged.

"A scroll from the Lordaeron archives." I identified it from the seals it bore, feeling the first stirrings of concern rise. This would have been in the library, same as so many of those books I'd been gifted with, supposedly lost in the fall of the city. "Tirion, what is this?" I suspected I knew already, but.

The Regent turned from studying the yard outside, the sun playing over his brown hair. "This case contains a writ from King Terenas which basically states that one Anelas Menethil, commonly known as Kieran De Nemesio, is the illegitimate offspring of Arthas Menethil."

I clenched both teeth and fists. Damn them. Damn them both. The only one who would have had possession of that case after the fall of Lordaeron would have been Arthas. The only one with an admitted reason to bring Anelas to the forefront, my father. What an unholy alliance that was….

"It goes on to state if Arthas does not produce another, legitimate, heir…."

"I know what the document states, Lord Regent. I did sign it, after all." I ground out the words. "And I apologize for my father's meddling. He seeks to profit from this."

"And you do not?" The Regent's voice was calm, and I forced myself to remember that he was a paladin entrusted with the care of the young prince, not nobility playing a power game.

"I see no profit in this. It would be a great dereliction of my greatest responsibility, the care of my children, to expose Anelas to this. I do not want to see him labeled as the Lich King's son. Arthas's crimes run deep, and Anelas is innocent of them. I would be the one left trying to hold this together, the one my son looked at as a traitor. My father wants apartments in the Keep, his grandson a companion of the Wrynn heir. He wants power, influence, prestige. This was the same desire that put me in Stratholme to attract Arthas, and he plays that game again. He thinks he would gain, but all I see is that I would pay."

Tirion nodded, gazing at the Regent. "As I told you she would say, Bolvar. If she had wanted this, she had a copy of this document, and would have brought it up to you herself. Aaron De Nemesio is a criminal, released from Lordaeron's gaol only when the Warden gave the order to clear them to give those within a running chance against the Scourge. Kieran is a ward of the Order, the child of two of our members. We wholeheartedly object to his grandfather's treatment of this. And you…" His eyes fell on me, "I forbid you to take action against your father for this. Let the Order and the Regent handle this."

I growled, sighed, and folded my arms over my chest. "Yes, my Highlord." I ground it out, and he stared until I added a vehement nod to it.

"Good." Tirion stated, his eyes moving back to the still and silent Regent. "Your Excellency?"

"While I agree that the way this was brought up was unsubtle and manipulative, the man has a point. If Lordaeron is restored, I would not mourn to see a grandson of Terenas rule it. And Anduin should have companionship of his age… While the Lady Clarimonde does not openly acknowledge Kieran's paternity, she does openly acknowledge that the children are her heirs, the scions of a fine, noble and old Lordaeron family?"

"I do."

"Then perhaps you will consider allowing your eldest to come to the Keep on occasion, Anduin sits classes that would do him well if the Light shines upon us and we free Lordaeron. Of course, when your younger is a little older, he could join them."

I glanced at Tirion, and he gave the slightest nod. "If Kieran is amenable to it, then I see no problem. The only thing I ask is that my father not have access to him."

The Regent snorted a laugh, moving from his window to pass beside me. When he was at his perigee to me, he met my eyes with his. "As has been pointed out, Aaron De Nemesio is an unpardoned, unparoled criminal from Lordaeron, released only when the gaol was going to fall to the Scourge. He will not be given access to Anduin… or any who have access to Anduin. It is going to be suggested to him that perhaps Stormwind is not the home for him… Good day, Lady Clarimonde, Highlord Tirion."

And such was my life. I taught the young paladins, standing as Uther had, to watch them take their oaths and carry on to Northrend. The reports from that quarter puzzled me, the Order landed in force upon the shores, and Arthas made no move. With his apparent lack of interest in his uninvited guests, those present fell into the comfortable, easy task of fighting amongst themselves. The Kirin Tor, the forces of the Horde, the forces of the Alliance… lacking a focused response from Arthas, moved against each other, and against the natives of Northrend, the Vrykul.

My children grew into bronzed and leggy lads, protected by their mentors, the Kirin Tor for Bayard and the royal household for Anelas.

And we watched, so carefully. We watched so carefully for an attack that we almost missed devastation staring us in the face


	11. Chapter 11

I disliked Stormwind's weather. To me, raised in Lordaeron, spring was a glorious profusion of apple blossoms and daffodils. Summer, basking and green, buzzing with bees. Autumn, cool, filled with the red of darkening oak leaves and spicy apples, the gold of ripening corn. And winter, snowy, to sit beside the fire. In Stormwind, spring brought the storms which named it. Summer brought steaming, humid heat. There was no autumn, and winter was merely rains. And that year brought the worst I had ever seen, the spring storms were epic, and we settled into summer. It rained until water stood in stagnant, emerald, buzzing pools, miring the roads and rotting hooves out from under the animals. But it was ignored once the druids called it natural; as if natural could not be a disaster, and the open doorway for worse.

Baudoin was the first of the family to slide, raised in Hillsbrad and posted with the Order in Lordaeron, he had never handled the heat well. His temper frayed, he bounced between growling fits and abject apology, losing weight as he stopped eating. The children followed, growing sullen and grumpy. I was the last to be affected, but finally the sheer weight of life thrust into overload from the heat and rain put me on edge. The canals which traversed the city filled, spilling over onto the streets and sliming the cobblestones green. Damp oozed down the walls, making the house smell of chalk and mold. The sheets were spongy and the air heavy. It made me dream of Lordaeron during the days, and worse, Northrend when I slept at night.

Word of illness came and was met with thinly veiled panic from the Lodge. The last time we'd gotten these words, the Order had fallen, Lordaeron had fallen, hundreds of thousands had perished or worse. I turned the missive over in my fingers, feeling the weight of Tirion's eyes upon the top of my head. "I sense nothing." I finally admitted knowing what he did not ask. "And this says the illness is natural…?" If this was Arthas, again, he was hiding it from me well.

"It appears to be. It responds to mundane treatment. The dead stay dead. It has none of the earmarks of the Plague of Undeath."

"I do not feel Arthas's hand in this. I do not feel his attention upon it. That does not guarantee he does not foment it, just that I do not feel him in it. Perhaps he has grown subtle, but I doubt that. Much of his strength comes from panic, dread."

He nodded in agreement. "As I felt, but I wanted your thoughts on it. Nevertheless, we have a plague rising… unnatural or natural, people are dying. Much of our deployable forces are already deployed to Dalaran, but we still bear a responsibility to render aid. Classes will be suspended, and I am ordering our cadre to respond to the affected areas. You will be included in that response, your medical talents will be useful… we have few paladins at hand, but if this is truly a mundane threat, you should be able to bundle medicines for distribution."

I felt a nebulous worry, a slight shudder, and frowned. "Will Baudoin be deployed as well?" Somehow, that was bad. I cursed both having, and contrarily, losing, the Sight.

"He will be, why?"

I nodded, letting the first and only statement that was right fall from my lips. "Then my children go to Theramore."

Again, a boat… maybe I should have been a sailor instead of a paladin. I was not deployed with the paladins, traveling instead with the priests. Southshore bustled with activity, much more than the last time I had been here, but not as much as I'd expect if the illness was as bad as the Plague had been. Comforted by that, I led my horse from the hold. He was a burly gelding, big, with a lot of cold blood in him. Somewhere in his past I'd guess he had plow horse roaming in his haystacks, but he was honest and one of the few horses who seemed unconcerned by me.

I had spent the voyage putting together the bundles, and was ready to go pretty much the moment I hit the docks. I sent a wary look westward, towards Sylvanas, but all seemed calm from that direction. "Where are you going?" One of the priests demanded when I mounted up before even stepping foot from the planks.

"The Ironfist's family is in the area." I stated, watching his face pale at the proclamation. This was one of the hardest hit areas; the rains had fallen unabated for weeks. It was not raining now, but a thick mist hung over the ground, damp and warm. "I'll see them tended first."

"Of course, mistress." He nodded immediately, and I touched my horse into a ground eating canter, headed west, towards the farm, and towards what had been Lordaeron City. Home called, Brill… and that blessed lack of life, but I pulled myself from that reverie in time to rein the gelding down the correct path. I could feel the illness when I crested the rise, and the horse slowed when he felt my doubts. Not again. I couldn't do this, again. It brought back too many memories, Brill. Hearthglen…. Stratholme.

"This is not the Plague, you fool." I hissed to myself, watching the gelding's ears flip back and forth as he listened to me. I didn't feel the rising power in this, only sickness. I growled and touched my heels to his sides and he jumped back into a willing canter.

Barnabas stood outside, and my heart clenched. He looked so much like Baudoin, that to see that defeated look in his eyes was like seeing Baudoin cowed. "Clair." He greeted slowly. "What…brings you here?"

"The Order deploys from Southshore to bring aid." I stated, sliding from my saddle. "I came straight here as soon as we landed. I am a trained physic, and I have supplies."

"Baudoin?" He looked around hopefully, almost as if he expected Baudoin to magically appear. He looked flushed, unwell, and I shook my head.

"Deployed to the north of us, with the Dawn." In case this wasn't as unconnected to Arthas as I judged it, the assault would come from that direction. "If the Scourge moves now, it will be a disaster."

"True enough." He sighed, moving towards the house. "They've all sickened, Clair. This rain, this heat… everything rots. The animals have thrush, and coughs. The grain slimes in the fields. I've never seen the like. Is it the Plague come?"

"No." I snapped it out much too quickly, and he gave me a wise look in answer. "No." I repeated with forced calm. "This is natural." I stated, following him. "The Plague was not. It did not give way to medicines or the prayers of healers."

He led me in and I sighed. He was correct, they were all ill. Thankfully, I had all the medicines ready, and he helped me force them down the children. Melia was awake, aware, able to swallow hers without a struggle. "You too." I ordered, and he dutifully swallowed his. They fell asleep, leaving me awake and watchful, my eyes locked to the west. Every time one of them moved, I jumped, my mind filled with memories of my mother's death. The medicines would not work. They would die. They would rise, and I would be forced to cut them down… I would fail to bring Baudoin's kin through this as I had failed to bring my mother through the Plague. I knew it, and no amount of logic or arguing with myself changed that.

"What bothers you, Clair?"

I flinched, but Arthas sounded honestly unaware. He paused when I did not answer, "You are again close to Lordaeron." He noted, "While the Bitch Queen rests upon my shores. She will not notice you there."

"Plague rises in the foothills. Hillsbrad. Alterac."

"Plague? Not the plague."

"Not the plague, but plague enough. I feel…. Desperation rising, Arthas." I chafed at confiding in him, but there was no other. I felt alone. "I feel the urge to do foolishness again."

His attention focused upon me, and I was bathed in the glory of it. How could I both love and hate him so? "What manner of foolish, Clair?"

"I feel panic rising. I want to…drive them from here. Force them to leave. Undo the generations of work here and set them adrift."

"While this is not my doing, there are many who would use it to their advantage. Perhaps you feel that coming."

Probably. I shook my head against the idea. I was not here to give into my panic, but to support these people.

"I will watch." He stated, and was gone.

Contrary to my fears, the medicines worked. The family rose, not as undead, but quite alive and moving towards well. The reports I received all agreed. The illness was natural, caused by heat and damp. It gave way before medicines and the prayers of paladins and priests. People recovered from it. But still, I found myself facing west, looking that way and waiting.


	12. Chapter 12

Every morning brought fog, thick, white, low lying. On the seventh morning after my arrival in Hillsbrad, it was tinted yellow and bore a sickly sweet smell. It also reeked of magic, a rising tempest of panic that reminded me all too plainly of Tirisfal immediately after the Plague. The chain of reason that had kept me sane snapped at that moment, and I moved from the foothills back to the farm.

"Out." I snapped at Barnabas, ignoring his greeting. "Go to Southshore. Now."

"Clair… What?"

No time. There was no time… I stared into his eyes and shamelessly exploited the powers that Arthas had given me. "Leave now." I whispered, throwing the weight of my death behind the words. "Do not return until I tell you so." He did so, hitching the sounder of the two oxen to the wagon and loading the children on. I watched until they were out of sight, before I spun on the farm. I drank the remaining oxen's blood until I was sated, killed it, and burned the buildings to the ground. And I rode…. West… into Lordaeron.

And it was empty. Just a few miles into Lordaeron, beyond the border, there was nothing. Nothing but death. There were giant red winged bats, tangled on the ground, dead. Gray plaguehounds, strewn across the wiry grass, dead. I rode on, turning north, a journey I had yearned to take but had kept myself from, deep into the heart of Silverpine, headed for Lordaeron's capital.

Just a few miles into Silverpine, my horse began to sicken, his strides shortening. When I let him stop, he dropped his head, his chest heaving like a bellows. He then collapsed, his knees buckling under him, and died. I stood there; staring in fascination, waiting for what I felt was the inevitable. And it was, less than an hour later, his hooves began to wave again, and he struggled to his feet.

"Arthas!" I howled into the empty air, and I felt the snap of his immediate attention.

"What?"

"My horse just died." I stated inanely, and I felt him look through my eyes at it. It stood, ears pinned back, eyes rimmed with reddish tinged whites. "The fog is yellow, it smells, and things are dying…" I was babbling, unconcerned when he exerted more control over me to move me to one of the bats. One of my hands reached out to grasp it, and dragged it a foot along the ground. It remained…dead. Still.

"Ride north." He ordered, and it was that, no suggestion. I remounted the gelding, closing my mind to the fact that it was no longer alive, and rode as directed, north towards Lordaeron City.

"I should warn the Order." I finally managed to complain, still heading resolutely north.

"I have already informed Baudoin." Arthas stated, his voice distracted. There were other people in the same room as he was now. Some of my brethren, his death knights, stood at the Throne before him.

I rode through the day, and still saw nothing living. The sky was empty. The trees pressing in over the road, empty, and the only thing that moved besides me and the dead horse was the fog, hanging heavy in my chest. A village along the way, empty. I stopped there, by Arthas's volition. It was abandoned, desolate, unlike the way before, free of any corpses. No bats. None of the hounds.

"This was a Forsaken outpost as recently as when you came to gather the children."

"There is nothing here now."

"I see that. Go."

I rode on, as the shadows spawned from the trees grew longer. New corpses, bears and black worgen, scattered the landscape, and I turned, again at Arthas's will, into a farm yard. The hayricks in the fields had rotted, collapsed, but there was still a hint of plow ridges, shining with parallel lines of water. A new stench hung here, rotting flesh, and there were bodies dropped randomly across the field. I rode up to one, surveying it. It had been human, before the original Plague, and had persisted the nine years since as a ghoul, Arthas's. Now it rotted, motionless.

"Arthas?" I asked the empty field.

"Clair. Forgive me for sending you this far. I had to know, now."

"Of course, my Prince." I stated, aware he heard it. I sat in my saddle for a long moment, trying to catch my breath, to shift the weight of the fog from my chest. It didn't move, even when I coughed, and I was suddenly hungry and tired.

I slept that first night crammed under the stairs of a house long dead. When I woke, I could not sense Arthas at all, and I was undeniably ill. "Not fair." I mumbled to myself as I went outside in search of the horse. I was dead. That should leave me immune to sickness. It always had before…

The horse had found his way to the barn, and stood sleeping, one hoof cocked beneath him, amongst the skeletons of the original occupants of the barn. "Time to go." I told him, and he opened his eyes. They were dull, dead, and he smelled of just the faintest whiff of decay when I grasped his reins. Time to go…but where? I couldn't head back to the Order's staging camp. The horse had been alive. Now he wasn't. Baudoin was alive, and if I carried this, no. At least the children were in Theramore…

I led the horse from the barn, and remounted, heading on the way that Arthas had sent me, towards the capital.

I sang as I cantered along, ignoring the explosions of feathers on the roadway, ignoring the small and not so small furry corpses. There was nothing, just the empty song of the wind in the trees, and the fog. I rode all day again, and slept in a barn under the horse's legs that night. It was difficult to wake up the next morning, and I spent several minutes coughing before I could stand. The horse stared at me out of glassy, bluish eyes, the indentions over them showing in stark relief. His barrel had swollen around the girth of the saddle, and I almost loosened it until it dawned on me how foolish that was. He was dead, and not dead as I was, imbued with power. He felt no pain, no discomfort. I spat out my own black blood and envied him.

Three more days to the capital, spending each night sheltered in the abandoned buildings of what had been a prosperous kingdom. By the final morning, I was so sick I had to use the horse's leg and stirrup to climb my way upright. He was spongy under my fingers, his skin sliding over his muscles, and I backed away from him in disgust. He was undeniably rotting, and I didn't think I could stand it anymore. Would I follow suit?

I grasped the skin visible on my arm and wiggled it experimentally. No. I didn't feel any different to the touch than I had before. I still breathed, although it was a struggle. "Go away." I muttered, and the horse just stared at me. "Damn fool horse. You're dead. Act like it." The stare wore on my nerves, unblinking, the eyes coated with the film of death. No more. I could take it no more. I left him just like that, still tacked with his saddle, stamped with the Order's marks, his bridle, and summoned my charger. He had also looked better, but at least he blinked, snorted, shifted, shaking his head to listen to his curb chain rattle.

I had to use a fence post to make my way to his back, and I rode on, to the capital. I was expecting the ruins, but I was not expecting Sylvanas's seat to be abandoned. It was, open to the singing breezes, and I rode on. There was no answer to be found here.

My way brought me close to Brill, but I did not pause. If I went home, I would never leave it, and there was no help for me there. I would die there as I had been born there. I would abandon Baudoin, abandon the children… No. There was one place, one possibility, and I headed for it, passing unnoticed through the Bulwark that the Forsaken had erected to keep the worst of Lordaeron's dead at bay. There were dead here, a handful of guards, and I studied them. They had been Forsaken, servants of Sylvanas, but now they rotted in the mud as everything else here did.

Now that I had a destination in mind, I did not stop that night. The moon was full and the fog glowed, but I paid it little mind, wrapped up in my own misery. I made the crossroads of Andorhal and Hearthglen at mid afternoon, and I paused. I had stood here, in this very spot, with Uther. Arthas had been alive, uncorrupted, up the road to my left that day, so soon after the birth of the Plague. Things had still been, if not right, then retrievable.

I clicked my tongue and the horse sprang into a faster canter, cutting across country to take me to Stratholme. There was still hope there.

I rode through the Triumphal Arch towards Stratholme, cautiously. I was not certain how this plague spread, and to bring it with me would certainly negate any chances I had to appeal for aid. But if Arthas was bound and determined to keep me as a servant, then I had rights to claim assistance from his forces here. I had died twice before, and still didn't find the idea any easier to swallow than it had been when I was seventeen.

But none of that truly mattered. There was no guard at the Arch, and the smell rising from the grounds before Stratholme made even my head spin, and I was accustomed to Icecrown's unique aroma. I clutched at the high pommel of my saddle, and at the charger's thick mass of black mane. No.

"Hail!" I shouted, and there was not even the call of a bird to mock me back. This was the main concentration of Scourge forces on Azeroth, sheltered in the shadow of Naxxramas, and…nothing?

I summoned my armor, immersing myself in the role of one of the Lich King's valued lieutenants, and inched forward, step by step. Any worries that I would be the one to bring this plague here, to Plaguewood, vanished. I was a latecomer to this, judging by the fleshy heaps of abominations fallen and oozing on the ground. The ziggurats stood empty, the slaughterhouse… The necromancers I had been hoping would have the answers to this were useless, fallen well before I made it to them. I nudged one of their corpses with a toe and sighed despondently. I was running out of options, running out of time, and I steadied myself by leaning against the charger. Arthas was gone from my mind, and I had few doubts of my reception if I attempted to make my way magically to his side. Plaguewood had fallen… I looked upwards. Naxxramas floated above my head, and I frowned. That was another probable bad reception, if it was not infected, there was no way Kel'Thuzad would admit me entrance. If it was, it didn't matter.

I pulled my runeblade, turning it over in my hands. It had been remarkably quiet through this. "You still persist in spite of this." It finally stated. "These have fallen. We have not."

Yet. I wrinkled my nose as I walked down the road towards Stratholme, making my way through the dead ziggurats and around the meat wagons blocking the road.

"You are ill, yes. But you have also been flirting with this; you have not eaten in days."

True enough. The last food of any sort I had eaten had been the blood of Barnabas's ox… Six days ago. I carried food, the ubiquitous ration biscuits which were issued by every single army and expedition I had ever run into, but I could not bring myself to eat them. I sighed, shaking my head. I wanted flesh, blood, but every animal I'd seen since the farm had been dead, bloating in the damp heat.

The ziggurats gave way to the lake before Stratholme, and I walked across the stone bridge towards what had been my home. The outer walls were untouched, the gates charred and hanging open. So many memories, the happiest times of my life, and the worst, were held here. It had been overrun by the Scourge, but they, like the ones in Plaguewood, had fallen. The ziggurats sprouted up between the charred ruins were empty, their necromancers now on a first name basis with the death they worked in.

I wandered the streets, taken home without conscious thought, to the Lodge. Much of the grounds remained intact, Alonsus Chapel stood. I mounted the steps of the headquarters, while part of the wooden infrastructure had been destroyed; the main building had been stone work, immune to the flames. The cellblock I had lived in had collapsed, but Uther's apartment and offices had not, and I pushed the unhinged door open.

The walls were blackened with soot, the varnish on the desk cracked, but the case on the desk was untouched. It resembled a case for a large map, buckled shut with leather straps. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't really care. It had been Uther's, and it remained intact, therefore I wanted it. The empty headedness which had haunted me since passing into Lordaeron, since becoming ill, saw nothing at all wrong with that logic.

Other than that, there was nothing there for me. It was less painful than I'd been expecting, I was distanced from my surroundings by an increasing gulf as my body failed against the assault of this new plague. Delirium chased sanity around in circles in my mind, and I left Stratholme quickly, ready to attempt one last remaining plea.

The portal for Naxxramas was inlaid into the floor of one of the ziggurats, and I moved cautiously to its edge. It should glow with lambent silver, the same as the full moon. It did not, it was a dull, tarnished gray, and there was a marked split through the stones which had contained it. It had been destroyed, powerless under my fingertips when I rested them on the apron. I stood in the middle of it, surveying the devastation. I was no caster, untrained in the arcane arts, but broken certainly looked like broken to me.

"Kel'thuzad!" I screamed, and still…nothing. I sank to my knees, out of ideas, coughing renewed from the scream.

I slept that night on the altar of the Slaughterhouse, as good a place as any in the area. Before, I had woken in the morning with some direction, either to make the capital, or to come here, to Plaguewood. I was now aimless, and I slept like it until the runeblade's concern shifted me out of it.

"Leave this place. It is dead, and it will kill us."

"We're dead anyway." I muttered through splitting lips, still curled in a fetal position on the altar. I could feel it consider that statement, mulling…conniving.

"Perhaps. But is here where you want to die?"

I opened my eyes, focusing on the sickly green wall beyond. "No." I finally admitted, struggling to sit. The effort brought more coughing, and it remained silent until the fit passed.

"Then make this final decision. Where? How?"

I stood, shivering and wobbling, but managed to maintain an upright stance. Not in the way I preferred, fighting for what I believed in… my husband, my children, the Order, or even Arthas. Dying of an illness brewed by Sylvanas had never been a dream of mine.

"Fine. Where?"

That was simple. If I could not die with Baudoin, then I would die with Uther. "He's so far away." I murmured, and the blade sighed. To get to him would require riding the way back I had come, to the shores of Darrowmere, and to his tomb.

"What else is there left but to try?" It asked, but I was already heading out.


	13. Chapter 13

I am not certain how long I traveled, or even the way I took. My charger, once proud and glorious, failed more with every step…first his ears drooped, then his head. When I came across the road, his lower lip hung lax. I let him choose the easier path on the roadway, until it ended at a gate. I smelled death, but a different death than before, and I raised eyes to the structure.

A bastion of the Scarlet Crusade, the area had two of them, holdouts against the Scourge. Its banners hung limply in the breeze, and I listened. I expected nothing, again, but nothing was not what I got. I heard…crying. At first I thought it was my mind playing tricks one me, but I rode through the sallyport in search of it. Perhaps the Crusaders had survived this as they had survived the one before? Perhaps I was being targeted already, and they would cut me down here?

A child rested face down on the lawn before the Keep, screaming bloody murder, tendrils of grass in its fists, feet kicking. It froze with the first hoof clop on stones, sitting abruptly to stare at me. The gaze was as incredulous as I guessed mine was, then it fell into the most desperate and uncomprehending expression I have ever seen on a person's face. "Meh!" It proclaimed imperiously, thrusting hands in my direction with the universal demand to be picked up. I judged it to be about as old as Anelas had been when Bayard had been born, a year. "Meh!"

"Fine. Fine." I breathed, sliding from the charger. "I'll pick you up." How, I wasn't certain, I was doing well to keep myself standing. I picked it up, and it clung to me with a frantic strength, sobbing. "Where's your mama, little one?" I asked, staring around. A man hung dead, a rope around his neck, from the wall beside the yard, garbed in the full red plate and tabard of a knight of the Crusade. A quick search proved what I suspected… those who survived long enough had felled those who had risen, and had then committed suicide. I carried the only survivor.

"Here." I breathed, returning to the charger and leaning my forehead against his flanks. I was tired. Dizzy. All I wanted to do was sleep… I forced my fingers to work the buckles on my pack, to find a biscuit. The baby snatched it from me immediately, gnawing with a focused intent, but its eyes did not leave my face. "Glad to see someone likes them." I sighed.

"There is probably food here. For you. For her."

There was, I found unspoiled salted beef, and after I had softened the first two bites on my tongue, I felt suddenly ravenous. I ate until I could eat no more, chasing it down with ale. There was cheese, and oats for meal, I packed what I could carry and moved back out to the charger, the baby still riding on my hip.

I rode on, balancing the baby in front of me, singing as we went. She was extraordinarily quiet, clinging to me as if I was her only hope. I guess I was, at that, but once I had picked her up, I could not leave her. Once I had heard her crying, that was it.

We sheltered in a farmhouse that night. I had rallied enough after the meal earlier to ransack the house in search of clothes for the little one. I closed my mind when I discovered exactly what I was looking for; pretty little dresses in a clothes press… the belongings of a child probably long dead. I warmed some water and bathed the child, ascertaining that the blade was indeed correct, it was a little girl. A little girl with silver blonde hair and eyes the same color as a full moon's midnight. She was too thin, but the Light only knew how long she'd been there like that. The corpses there had not been as old as this infection; the bastion had stood for awhile after the new plague had risen.

She watched me in fascination, still apparently stunned by my arrival. I dried her, clothed her, and settled her down in the space under the stairs, smoothing her hair as I watched the shadows deepen. I did not sleep that night, remaining watchful now that I had some reason to take care. Not that there was anything to watch against.

I made breakfast in the pale dawn, boiling oats and some dried apples into a porridge. It needed sweet spices, but I had failed to find any in the bastion, and contented myself with what I had. If it was lacking, the little one showed no sign of it, eating every last smidgen I offered her.

Noon brought us to the shores of Darrowmere, and I looked out across its waves. I could vaguely see Caer Darrow, and the Scholomance, from my bluff. I had been to Caer Darrow twice, once with Uther, and once to visit the Barov family. They had been wealthy nobility, with sons; my father had found them appealing candidates for in-laws. Thankfully, they had not agreed with that idea. I shook my head, tightened my grip on the baby, and turned to follow the shore eastward, towards Uther's tomb. I reached it in the early dark of evening, sliding from my charger and lighting the votives with shaking fingers. There was a statue, of Uther kneeling, hammer in one hand, Tome of Divinity in the other and I sighed.

"I miss you." I breathed, settling down against the pedestal. I was back at his side, come to him to die. I could not go on any farther; once I had made it here it was as if all my strength was gone. I wrapped myself and the little one in my cloak and fell into an immediate deep sleep.

"Clair, lass." Uther squatted beside me, and I opened my eyes to him. He was there, but then again, not. I could see through him, and the doorway of the tomb was dim with dawn. "I can't let you do this." He stated, and I almost whined aloud.

"Uther, I am so sick. I can't go on." I managed; my lips had bled during the night and didn't want to part.

"I know you are sick, lass. Truly sick." His voice was deep with regret and empathy. "I still can't let you. You know that. You have been given a gift and a responsibility. Dying here, now, will not just take you. You will destroy Baudoin, who holds out a last desperate hope you will ride out of here. Your children have had you for these two years, and losing you now that they know you will be devastating. But that isn't enough to see you out of here. For that, you were given her." He glanced at the flaxen head in my lap. "Fail her and she will die, lass. I am powerless to help her, Clair, but you will consign me to watching her die here. No." He shook his head sharply. "You will stay here, regain some strength. Eat. A couple of days, and then you will mount up and leave here."

I wanted to cry. To whine. To shriek my rage at him. I settled with glaring impotently, and he only smiled benignly back at me. "I know, lass." He breathed, his eyes going to the lightening doorway. "Life is hard. Dead is harder. Give the baby a name, claim her as yours, and keep going." He vanished in the first beam of true light, and the little one shifted and snuffled under my hand. Resigned, I set a small fire and warmed more water for the porridge. She seemed to like it well enough.

By two days later was fairly certain I was not going to die from this. I was tired, hungry, and I ached like I had been beaten, but the cough had diminished and I could hold a thread of thought together. Uther did not reappear, leaving me alone with the baby. I took his advice and named her, Renata. As he'd said, she was mine.

My charger looked almost normal when I called him again, and I mounted up and rode. It was the same road I had taken with my sons, only a silent way banished with what few songs I could bring myself to sing. I missed Bayard's ceaseless questions… the little one was not mute, but her vocabulary was severely lacking in conversational value.

Arathi was empty, just an ocean of grass growing madly in the heat and rain. Its height hid most of the corpses, but I could still smell them. I made good time, able to let the charger go as he saw fit, and we made the Thandol Span in four days. I had grown so accustomed to nothingness that I galloped up to the bridge, expecting no challenge or barrier. There was an encampment on the other side, banners of the Hand and Kirin Tor waved in the breeze… people. Living. Moving. People… Kallum.

"Halt!" He bellowed, "You will go no further, Scourge!"

Damn it. What a fool I was, pelting along the road, mounted on a dreadcharger, garbed in a death knight's armor… Blithely stupid… I snatched my helm from my head before he managed an attack, "Hold, Kallum!" I yelled back, and I did get the hoped for cessation of the spell he was casting.

"Hold, Kallum!" Three other voices chorused from the encampment, two male, one female, and he dropped his hammer.

"Come no further, Clarimonde!" Jaina shouted, and I stood in abject betrayal. On some level, I had been expecting this; of course there would be a quarantine, a block, if there were survivors. "If you attempt to cross the bridge, the wards will activate! Wait!"

Tirion and Baudoin had moved up behind her, and when Baudoin's eyes fell on me, he broke into a charge. Jaina hissed, and Tirion jumped. Her spell hit him at about the same moment that Tirion managed to grab him, leaving both men frozen in place. She glanced at that for a moment, a near smile twisting her lips, before she moved out on the bridge a few feet.

"Clarimonde. You return to us. We had almost given up hope. Are you….sick?"

"I was. It broke about a week ago."

"I'm going to have to ask you to stay there for right now. Is there anything you need?"

I nodded. Feeding both of us had eaten deeply into my supplies. "I'm out of food, Jaina. I can't hunt and I really, desperately need it. I need things that she…" I held her up and she dangled happily in my grasp… "Can eat."

It was difficult to judge who was the most shocked in the four facing me. Kallum's shock had not abated since he had made the correlation that I was the death knight he had confronted. The other three were not shocked by that revelation, but that I was still… persisting, as the blade put it. And now, the baby.

"I will go." Baudoin growled, and Tirion looked exasperated. "No." He snapped before the Highlord began. "She is my wife. I swore to her… I will not turn away. And now, she has a survivor. Clair cannot heal, if the child needs assistance, one of us must give it. I will go."

Unfortunately, the first words out of my mouth were the ones guaranteed to cement his stubborn answer. "Baudoin! Do not be a fool! I could still sicken you, I will turn back…"

At the last words, his face stilled. He grasped a crate passed to him, and walked steadily across the bridge towards me. "No." He stated when I started to pull back on the reins. "Clarimonde. No. Please." He walked up to the charger's shoulder and stared at me, then stared at the baby. "You are both beautiful beyond words." He stated, and I believed him. He dropped the crate, and held up his hands. "Let me see her."

I passed her over. I was already assured she was as healthy as a horse, but it would do her no harm to have him look at her. "Meh." She stated, staring at him.

"Meh yourself." He answered, cradling her to his chest. He touched her forehead with a finger, and his hand glowed. "She's fine, Clair. Where…how?"

"How, I do not know. Where… Hearthglen, I think. I was pretty sick, I may have

wandered. One of the Scarlet Bastions, I hope I wasn't off path enough to make my way to Tyr's Hand…" Hoped, but it was entirely possible. It became even more possible with his next statement.

"You've been gone for a month, Clair. The last word I had was from Barnabas, who said you used witchery to make him leave the farm."

"Eh. He shouldn't complain. He's alive." Compared to what I'd seen, that was truthful.

"So the bastions stand?" He asked dubiously, and I shook my head.

"No. She was the only one. It looked as if those alive destroyed the ones rising, and then took their own lives. If any left, they went far away. Nothing stands, Baudoin. Even the ziggurats at Stratholme have fallen. The birds have fallen out of the sky. It's a… clean slate."

He nodded, extending a hand to help me dismount. When I was safely down, he passed me the baby again, and opened the crate. "So. This must be Bayard's promised sister."

"I couldn't just leave her."

He gave me a slight smile. "Of course not. My question is, is she ours?"

"She is. Renata. Without her, I would not have made it." He only nodded, giving her a glancing touch of acceptance, and went back to unpacking the crate. It contained supplies, real supplies. I had been ill provisioned, at no point in time was I supposed to be far enough away from the Order to require a full kit.

"I suppose there is a reason why you are riding the charger?" He asked, laying out the tent poles and canvas. "And…" He waved at me. "That? Kallum very nearly…"

"My horse died just inside of Lordaeron…sort of. It was him, or walk."

He nodded, "Thank the Light you are back." He finally admitted, raising dark eyes to stare at me. "Anything that brought you back is fine. We've been worried sick when Barnabas told us you went west."

I sat, tired, and well pleased to watch someone else do the work. I could give up now, let him carry the load. That seemed to be my answer to everything and I frowned, but sleep was already rising to claim me.

The baby's piercing giggle startled me out of a dead, dead sleep, but I could not seem to wake fully. Instead I hung, aware, but motionless, just under awake. There were the sounds of living around me and I savored them… horses, mules, people. I was rested in a cot, and by the reddish tint from my eyelids, it was well light outside.

"Is she alive?" Kallum's voice was wary, very close.

"No." Jaina's voice, exasperated as I had never heard it before. "She isn't. Clarimonde has been dead for years…. Do they all wiggle like this?"

"Yes. And she'll take them off again if you manage to get them on. Give up, Lady Proudmoore. She doesn't need stockings. What….happened?"

I could feel Baudoin beside me, far away asleep. His was more natural than mine was; I'd been tampered with at some point in time…

"Proudmoore thought it wise to keep us asleep, or at least unmoving, until they have an opportunity to feed us. She is correct…I hunger."

Of course it did. I had leaned upon its magic and its tie to me to bring me out of Lordaeron. We had both run through of all our reserves to come out, and I would need to feed soon, unless I was kept like this.

"To Clarimonde? She was killed in the beginning of Arthas's expedition to Northrend. Not certain of the details, but she bears one hell of a death mark."

"We were told she gave up being a paladin after Stratholme…"

Jaina snorted. "Northrend came after Stratholme." She pointed out the obvious. "It was a harsh time; thankfully she was dead before the worst of it came. Dead before Lordaeron fell. Dead before Uther." She rested a cool hand on my forehead. "Dead before Arthas fell. Lucky."

Yes, I was. I had slept through a cataclysm, and I was well aware of it. "Sleep, Clarimonde." She breathed. "I will wake you when we can feed you. Until then, no. We will care for the little one. Sleep."

So I did.


	14. Chapter 14

"Clarimonde, wake!" Jaina's voice seethed with power, and I was wide awake in an instant. I was also out of my mind ravenous, the keening of the runeblade the loudest thing in my head.

"What? Who?" I demanded, and she pointed imperiously out of the tent. I could hear the sounds of a pitched battle erupting around me, and I upended the cot in my rush to make it to the tent flap. Forsaken…here. I knew enough, no questions were necessary. I was certain they had released this new plague, to cleanse Lordaeron. To hell with those who had lived in the areas surrounding them… such as Baudoin's family, they visited their own hell, their own victimization, upon others. I could not overlook that affront. I grinned, they were dead, which meant they fell squarely into my powers, there were lots of them, and they had souls enough for the blade to feed upon. The Order would allow… no… encourage me to kill them. Win win all the way around.

I began to cast from the ground just in front of the tent, bold as brass, channeling power. Jaina stood abreast of me, already deeply in a casting stance, and my grin widened. Me. An archmage of the Kirin Tor, and the Highlord of the Silver Hand, they'd need a much larger force than this to consider taking us. I ripped the souls from the closest four to me to feed myself, power the blade, and the casting circle erupting around me.

"Die." I breathed, vaguely aware of just how wrong that command sounded, turned sepulchral and echoing through my helm. Even Jaina sent me a worried glance before she returned her attention to the fight. "I hunger!" I howled, and the circle blazed into blue life, annihilating those within its bounds.

"In the Dark Lady's name, destroy that!" Why wasn't I surprised that I was that which the deathguard was pointing squarely at? In a group with all these notables, I was still the target?

Bound by the swirling blue mist of the circle surrounding me and Jaina, I raised the runeblade aloft. "Sylvanas is a traitor." I stated. "I rest squarely within the Lich King's favor while she makes do with what she tore from him. Do not believe that I am the lesser of His creations!" I meant it merely to be psychological warfare, truthful in word… I was still in Arthas's favor, while Sylvanas had betrayed him. He had created both of us; we were sisters in that fact alone. I meant it to plant doubt, if I could, but at the last word, there was a shockingly loud thunderclap and a blindingly bright blue glare. Jaina, the closest to me, was knocked to the side, a ripple of rainbow power marking the magical shield she had erected around herself earlier in the fight. When the glare passed and I blinked away blindness, I viewed devastation. The paladins stood, unscathed. The tents stood, unscathed. Renata was fine. The pack animals, fine. But there was a circle of death roughly the size of the Forsaken's dispersal around me. The grass was powdered, already blowing in the wind. The ground was blighted, and the Forsaken as destroyed as they'd been at the bulwark days earlier.

"Damn." I muttered, avoiding Jaina's measuring stare. "Um…."

"Very theatrical, my dear. Nicely done." Arthas's voice was drolly amused. "Where have you been? Until just now, you were gone from me."

"It took me awhile to leave Lordaeron. I was sick, and then they made me sleep." Jaina still stared, as did Tirion now.

"Ah. And awakened to handle this, I would guess. When you powered, I found you again."

"What…was that?" I asked, avoiding the stares of those around me. Jaina's lips pursed, thoughtful, her turquoise eyes glancing between me and Tirion.

"I would say you called it, Clarimonde." She finally stated, leaving the circle. "Do I have to tell her, Arthas? Or will you?"

The words came from my lips, truly enough. But they were not mine. "Clarimonde is not my lesser creation." I proclaimed firmly, and she only nodded.

"So much power and care went into creating you again." She sighed, staring into the breeze. "So much thought. So much struggle. Sylvanas was an angry reaction, you were not. He wanted you back, to stand at his side, and he wanted to punish her. You are the purer creation, spiritually, magically. It is why she can leave him, and why you cannot. It is why…at the end…you will stand behind him."

Baudoin stood beyond, silent, and I met his eyes. Would he still accept me? I had asked him to accept so much, too much, already. He shrugged, glanced around. "Good riddance." He finally stated. "You look like you're feeling much better, Clair."

I felt more than better. I felt wondrous, glutted with power, vibrating with my own glory. "I feel fine." I stated, hoping I did. There was something I didn't like in his face. Something I didn't quite like in Tirion's, as well.

"Do not doubt Baudoin."

"Hmm." I answered noncommittally, wishing his attention would turn elsewhere. Unfortunately it didn't.

"Sylvanas will move against me." He stated, as if that was not completely obvious. A plague, designed to destroy the undead…. Loosed upon Icecrown, rendering it as dead as Plaguewood, as Stratholme, Arthas's army, gone just like that. "And you have survived exposure to this already. I will need you here, in Northrend, soon."

I spat, throwing my helm to the ground in a temper. "What if I don't want to come?" I demanded of the sky, aloud. Arthas did not answer, and Baudoin's expression was calm. Jaina's, sad. "You all knew." I accused, and she nodded slowly.

"I have warned Baudoin and the Highlord that you would probably be called back to his service after this. What happened in Lordaeron was just a trial. A test. And it worked. Northrend would be next, logically. You are a vast conduit for his power, and you have proven able to shrug off this illness. He will need you back."

"Jaina…"

Her brows lowered and she stepped in closer. "Go to him, Clarimonde. With your heart and will intact. If he forces you to return, you face the possibility of losing them both. Arthas values you as you are. Use that as much as he does. He will send you against Sylvanas, as the Order would. It's the same end, just a different liege."

"I don't want to leave Baudoin, the children, again." It seemed that was I had ever done, and I tired of it.

"Either way, you leave." She pointed out. "Deploy as support for the Order, you will not be with Baudoin or the children. Back Arthas, and you will not be. Such is war, when you are a player. Right now, who is the larger threat to what you hold dear, Arthas, or Sylvanas?"

"Sylvanas." Arthas had remained at Northrend for years, keeping a low profile.

"Then use the gifts at your disposal to go do what you must. The Order will never be able to support you as Arthas can. They will make you support, and you were not made for support. Arthas will use you as you were made to be used."

I wasn't entirely certain I liked those words. "Jaina." I began, and she gazed at me wisely.

"Being one of the pieces means you get played, Clarimonde. Just because you have been a hidden piece, unseen by most, does not mean you are not in the game."

She stepped back, casting a glance in Baudoin's direction. He moved up slowly as she backed away, until he was close enough to rest his forehead against my armored shoulder. "No matter what has happened." He stated softly, "No matter how great the odds, you have always returned to me. Death did not hold you from me, and I have faith you will return again… and I will be here." He spun, picking up Renata and striding away from me. He did not look back.


	15. Chapter 15

I nodded slowly, and willed myself to Icecrown. After so many days of sweltering heat, Arthas's room was a relief. I appeared, not in armor, but in an impossibly fine gown of black, silver and blue. There were two nerubians outside of the door and they fell into step behind me as I emerged and headed into the depths towards the Throne.

There were people here, others who had followed Arthas from Azeroth so long ago. They stood in silence; Arthas had not begun the discussions, the plans, yet. "Good evening, Clarimonde." He stated before I had come from the shadows. "I trust you are well?"

Eyes fell on me, and I forced myself to continue to him at a regular pace. "I am, my Prince, thank you." I stated, bowing before him and ignoring the stares. Dealing with my brethren was easier than dealing with the Order. I was their better, and as long as I acted it, all was well.

"You have information for us?" He asked from the Throne, and I raised my gaze to him.

"The Forsaken have released a modified form of the Plague upon the lands of Lordaeron, while most of their forces are here on Northrend. That which was undead at exposure seems to die quickly. That which was not, rises as undead, I believe. It was difficult to ascertain…"

"Why?" Bonner demanded from the group of my brethren, and I pulled my stare from Arthas's face to his. Still pushing for my position, after all this time, I sighed. I wished he could have it, but he could not. I knew that. Arthas knew that. Perhaps one of these days, he'd figure it out himself.

"Because there is nothing left moving from the Thandol Span north. Lordaeron has been cleansed. The Scarlet Bastions have fallen, many of them on their own blades rather than rise again. The ziggurats at Stratholme, Plaguewood, all fallen. We have lost our infrastructure in Lordaeron."

"Impossible." He growled, and Arthas raised a brow. I let a sneer cross my features. Anything was possible. What had happened once before was even more possible. The fool stood there, dying a hair at a time, telling me it was impossible for the Forsaken to have learned from what had been done to them. "My king, we know the woman is a traitor. And now she comes to you and lies blatantly. Let me destroy her…" He pulled his own runeblade, and the others in the Throne room froze, their eyes greedily flicking between the three of us.

"If you think you can take her, Bonner, you're welcome to try." Arthas breathed slowly. "That avenue has always been open to you. I will not intervene…"

I drew my own runeblade, holding it up and admiring the play of magic lighting the deeply chiseled runes down its length. "Come, Bonner." I breathed, "I will feed upon your soul…"

"She is a traitor." He grumbled, dropping his blade and his eyes. "My king…"

"Only I determine who is a traitor to me, Bonner. I informed Clarimonde that I required her return, and here she is. She traveled into Lordaeron, at great risk, when I sent her there. As for the veracity of her words, I saw through her eyes in the beginning, until she became too ill to support me. And her words make sense, I feel that Plaguewood has fallen, and Naxxramas does not answer me. The only reason for that is that they do not exist to answer me… I assume the Dread Citadel has fallen." He sat, pensively regarding the wall next to him, and I remained stubbornly silent. If Naxxramas did not answer the queries of the Lich King, then it had indeed fallen. Lordaeron had fallen, again. "I can only assume that Sylvanas has brought this to my shores, with the intention of using it against me."

"We are your servants, my King. I do not fear any mere plague…." Bonner spewed, his eyes burning with zealotry. Fool. Poor, deluded fool. I had been imbued with more power than he dared consider, and had almost fallen.

Arthas sighed, rising to his feet and moving to stand before me. "My Clarimonde. Raised from the dead for one task… do you back away from that task now that it is here?"

"No, my Prince." I did not. So many things did not make sense, but this did. Sylvanas would not stop at Lordaeron, or even Northrend. If she had her way, everything I held precious, from Arthas, to my children, would die. Everything would have been for naught… Arthas would unleash me as I was meant to be unleashed. "I will destroy Sylvanas if that is your bidding." Sounded good, wasn't exactly certain if it was even possible. Perhaps, fielding the forces at his disposal, I could manage it. It didn't really matter, I was willing to try.

A shadow of the old Arthas flicked across his face with the hint of the smile that was there, and then was gone. "So be it, Clarimonde." He stated, snapping his fingers at one of the nerubians lurking in the shadows behind the Throne. It moved out, an object grasped in its claws, which it offered to Arthas. He took it, turned it over in his hands, before he spun back to me. "Clarimonde, Consort General of the Lich King…" he breathed, "Kneel."

And so, I was released upon Northrend, with the full favor and support of the Lich King backing me. And it was glory, incarnate. I was good at the role that the Order had given me, as a teacher. But it did not make my blood sing as taking the field did. It was not what I had been raised from the dead for, what I had been imbued for. I had been created to destroy. And destroy, I did.

I avoided the Order, and the Kirin Tor… I had been brought here to hound Sylvanas, and that was what I did. I became one with the land I was familiar with, and I haunted the Forsaken. How dare Sylvanas? How dare she? Claim Lordaeron? She was elven, it was not hers, and should never be. How dare she wail she was a victim of Arthas, and then do the same thing to others?

I pushed for weeks, striking continuously. When the Forsaken killed my Vrykul, I raised them as undead. I snatched the weaker of the Forsaken away by bending them to my will, turning them around, and sending them right back into their forces and creating havoc. I pulled the dead from the very ground of Northrend. Whatever it took, I did, and I bought Arthas time. I knew I would not stop Sylvanas's march to the Citadel at the top of the world, and I knew I was out of time when the frostwyrm landed next to me, saddled… Time to return to the Citadel and face the siege.

Arthas stood on the top of the glacier when I landed, his face still, his eyes empty. "Your service has been exemplary, Clair." He breathed when I jumped from the wyrm's saddle and landed on the ice beside him.

"My prince?"

"It's time to clean up my mess." He nodded slowly. "You were correct, always. She was a mistake I should have never made."

"We've all made them. When I kill her, it will be over." I grinned, and he chuckled. It wasn't that easy. He knew it. I knew it. While I had worn away at her forces, probably kept her from deploying as fully as she'd liked, I had done very little real damage. My best job had been to remind her that we were here, and were quite aware of her presence and movements.

"She will release the new plague here." He stated, and I frowned. Arthas and several of the death knights still lived. I had no idea what would happen if they were exposed. Surely Arthas could survive it if I had? "I can assume she has managed some level of resistance or immunity to her forces by now." He continued, "I know you have fought back this plague, but the very fact that you did sicken from it, and sicken as badly as you did concerns me. You are as fine as I could make you, with all the time, effort and power I was willing to invest in you, and you very nearly did not make it. Your brethren are not nearly as imbued as you are; I assume they will fall quickly. I am not dead, as you are. I can only guess the outcome…" He frowned. "Advice?"

A sharpening breeze brought the sounds of an army's advance and I grimaced at their proximity. "Seal off the Throne room, with you in it, to keep the Plague from you, while we still have that chance. I will do my best…" There was no other answer. He was correct; there was too much doubt… Even if he did not die from it, even if he sickened a fraction of the level I had, it would still put him out of the fight.

And that was exactly what we did, sealing the Throne room, and I stepped upon the high ground to study the army arrayed against us. It was… impressive. Sylvanas had been busy.

"Well….Consort General?" The voice was heavy with sarcasm, and I sighed. If Sylvanas did not manage to kill this one, I would, and enjoy every moment of it. "The Forsaken army cools its heels on our doorstep."

The breeze was rising, flapping my fur lined cloak behind me. "I am dead, not blind, Bonner." I stated coldly, as chill as the wind. "And the wind rises from the Dragonblight…" I drew the runeblade in my main hand, the other, mundane blade in my off and stared into the Dragonblight, beyond the army arrayed. They were there…. Waiting. I had never been gifted in the arcane, but the words of the spell rose unbidden to my lips, and a casting circle moved the ice crystals around my feet, sluggishly. I was not hidden from the eyes of Sylvanas's army; I could feel the focused attention of many of them, and one of them was moving quickly, straight for me.

Bonner was jealous and angry, but he was still a death knight, and a servant of my liege. He moved to protect my back from what was coming; I could vaguely hear him bellow a challenge. I heard the flap of wings, the strike of hooves on the ice behind me, and the fight was on. It was over quickly, and I was aware when I finished the spell, that something was behind me, just outside of the warding circle.

"Yes?" I asked smoothly, well aware that it was not Bonner.

"Clarimonde, Consort General of the Lich King and his army." He had the breathy, deep voice of one of the Nathrezim, and I turned slowly.

"Varimathras, right hand of the Banshee Queen." He was big. Much more ominous than I'd been expecting and it was not fair. Sylvanas's pet dreadlord filled the space behind me. It was all I could do to keep from craning my neck to look up at him; in fact, I had to take a step back to manage it.

"We've been looking for you. But you are not easy to find. We have…an offer." I dropped my eyes…Bonner lay quite dead beneath him, a pool of blood spreading and freezing in the harsh air. The Nathrezim glanced down, following my eyes, shrugged, and carefully prodded the body off the edge of the rampart with a hoof. "He got in the way. Now, where was I?"

"Offer." I stated, and he nodded.

"We assume you've done the smart thing, and have sealed the Lich King away from the plague. It's what we would have done, and all of your moves up until now have been well thought out. Just as I'm certain you realize how this is about to go." He stared into the wind. "You are been exposed to the Plague, and survived it. We don't expect you to fall from it, now. The rest are another question altogether. When this is over, you will be the only one up…"

Probably. I had considered that eventuality myself. If the death knights were not completely resistant, and I doubted if they were, they would be in no condition to fight. Or worse, they'd be what I was fighting. And the undead that comprised the majority of Arthas's army, gone, with him locked away.

"I hear no offer." Yes, they stirred in the wind…

He nodded. "You are the same as my lady. Your life was ripped from you by the Lich King and you serve him for it. But there is freedom from that. There is a place for you in her service…"

A hidden piece. He really didn't know a damned thing about me. He made assumptions and leaps, and they were false. Yet he knew what I was to this… He'd referred to me by the very new title given to me. But several of the missing knew that and I was certain at least some of them had been interrogated.

"I will not serve Sylvanas." The wind was rising from the Blight, I could hear the first bugling calls from within its depths, and the horizon in that direction had darkened. "She and I are not the same. Arthas did not kill me. When I died, I served him freely. Perhaps he was wrong to not let me rest, not let me go, but he stole nothing from me. Everything he has was freely given to him. And I just have one more thing to say, before all hell breaks loose…."

His gaze had finally sharpened, attention fixated on the Blight. He snapped his eyes from the darkening to my face.

"For Lordaeron." I stated, as the first of the frostwyrms became visible in the seething depths of the cloud.

The arrival of the undead dragonflight did exactly as I had hoped; the blizzard which they brought with them forced Sylvanas's hand. Unable to spread the plague in it, and unable to settle for a siege, she was forced to begin the assault then. I bought more time, and a better showing, but even I knew it was just a reprieve. Right now, all I was doing was drawing out the inevitable, sidestepping the end. Eventually the wind would die, and the frostwyrms would fail, and she'd get her chance.

And she did, on the fifth night of the assault. Blade against blade, spell against spell, we had held her at bay easily enough. But that night fell clear, with the moons swimming in an immaculate sky… and the air smelled sweet.


	16. Chapter 16

I barricaded myself in the hall before the massive doors to the Throne room, listening to silence grow. I started with a full compliment of undead nerubians, but they dropped hours after the air smelled. I piled their bodies, adding them to the break. I wasn't coming out without a fight…

I heard steps, and peeked up beyond the break. Forsaken soldiers… I tested them, and was not surprised that each of them was too strong for me to gain control of. Varimathras knew I was here, and was not going to send playthings down this corridor for me.

"A break, milord. All seems dead." Their officer called back, and I heard the drag of hooves across the floor, the rustle of massive wings.

"No. She will be here." Varimathras disagreed slowly.

"Who will be here?" An unfamiliar voice, female and melodic. In all my life, I'd only heard elves have that voice, and I glared impotently at the nearest still nerubian. Sylvanas. I was going to fall to Arthas's lesser creation. Lesser, perhaps, but she had a dreadlord and an army at her disposal, while I had… nothing.

"Clarimonde, Arthas's Consort General. She is immune."

"What? You tell me this, now? Who? And how is she immune?"

"We were aware that Arthas was fielding a general." Varimathras stated, the slide of his hooves loud as he came to the turn into my hallway. "I questioned those we captured as to the general's identity. Their answer was that she is Clarimonde, who serves as both general and consort to the Lich King. I faced her on the ramparts before the blizzard of dragons came, she is…" He raised his voice and sharpened his enunciation, "quite impressive. I know you are there, Clarimonde. There is nowhere else you would be."

Now that I was made, I climbed to the top of my corpse wall, blades in hand. "I am here."

He grinned, and it was not a very nice grin at that. Damn demon… If I was still a paladin, I'd have a chance, but no. "So. What do we carve on your stone, little girl?"

"I already have a stone. Muradin carved it when I died."

"You cannot stand against us. We will breach the door. You know that."

Yes, I did. But it was past winning or losing now. I would go down knowing I had put up as much of a fight as I could. I had stood in the way between these fools and Baudoin, Anelas, Bayard for as long and as far as I could. That was the only way I could rest. "I am Clarimonde De Nemesio." I stated through numb lips. "Swornbound companion to Prince Arthas Menethil. Heir to Uther the Lightbringer…." The runeblade remained the same, but the mundane, unenchanted blade began to glow. "For Lordaeron!"

There was a growing, pulsing light from the sword, the same pure gold as the light that Uther commanded, clashing with the darkening blue of the runeblade's aura. I hopped from the pile of corpses, moving to intercept the Forsaken squad. Those, I could kill, and feed the blade with.

I fell into a bitter dance, letting that part of me normally denied rise to the surface. I would kill them all. Destroy them. How dare they threaten me? Arthas? My family? Blood flew, freezing to the walls. It went well, until I hit Varimathras, who had a parry which rattled me to my toes. He knocked me back into the break behind me, hard enough to shift the weight of more than a dozen horse weight nerubians.

"Again, very impressive." He noted, while I had rarely felt less impressive. "Again, is it prudent to fight the fight which cannot be won? You have stood beyond the Lich King's other servants. You survived a jaunt through the lands of Lordaeron which would have killed a lesser being. What do you have to prove?"

"I provenothing!" This wasn't about proving a damned thing. It was about standing for what I valued, the only reason to fight…and die. I jumped down again, giving into a flurry of attacks, tapping into the font of power open to me. I could feel the pile of dead nerubians shift and stand behind me. They were mindless heaps of flesh, less useful than normal, but still…

He moved to the side, opening up my other flank to Sylvanas's approach, and I growled. I might be able to take the Nathrezim…might, but I had few delusions about my ability to take both of them at once. I threw the nerubians in Sylvanas's direction, and charged the dreadlord.

And it was…short. Not as short as I'd been afraid of, but not nearly as impressive as I had hoped. Sylvanas destroyed the nerubians with an almost bored motion, moving to complete the flank. I held her at bay with the gift sword, pounding on Varimathras with the runeblade. He chuckled, and backhanded me into the door in response.

I bounced back from that one, and from several after it, but they were wearing me down quickly. Finally he hit me again, at the exact same time his mistress struck with a spell, and I wasn't getting up from that one. Pain, as harsh and real as the other times I'd died, exploded through me, and I collapsed.

I could vaguely hear the rustle of his wings, the step of hooves, and his shadow was black against my closed eyelids when he knelt. "Is she dead?" Sylvanas demanded from behind him. He rested an open hand over my chest, where my stilled heart had not beat for almost a decade. It was stilled, but my breaths were not…he had to feel them rising against his touch. As much as I tried to stop them, I could not.

"Yes, my mistress." He stated smoothly. "She is dead." He punctuated the comment by kicking me out of the way, and they turned their attention to the door I had unsuccessfully guarded.

"Clair. Wake up. Clair." Not even Baudoin's voice would stir me from this pain. If I considered waking, I would have to face it, deal with it, and nothing could convince me that was the prudent way for this.

"Lord Baudoin." I didn't recognize the voice, but only a paladin of the Order would refer to him as Lord. "I am sorry, but she has passed. Your lady is…gone."

"Jaina?" Baudoin's voice was edged with a desperate appeal, almost enough to bring me out of this. "She can't be…"

"Rest her on her back and I will see…" Jaina sounded dubious, cautious. She also believed I was gone, but I was not. I was shifted from my fetal curl to my back, and that was enough to do what my fortitude did not, convince me to move. I convulsed in a paroxysm of coughing, ending the seizure by vomiting up a mass of my own blood. "Well." Jaina stated. "That answers one question. While she appears to be a little more dead than normal, she isn't gone."

"I can't heal her." Baudoin mourned, and I managed to open my eyes. I was still resting just outside of the Throne Room, amongst the scattered remains of the nerubians. The door was open; shattered off of its hinges…I could see the empty Throne beyond.

"Arthas?"

"We don't know, Clair. He isn't here. What did this to you?" She rested a hand on my forehead, over the diadem that Arthas had given me when he'd named me Consort General.

"Sylvanas. Varimathras." I hurt so much, something, or multiple somethings, was broken inside of me. And I recognized the look in Baudoin's eyes. Uther had worn the same look when I'd fallen in training, and died. Arthas had worn it when I'd fallen on the grounds above Daggercap Bay, and died. Baudoin had been spared both of those, but he wasn't going to be spared this one.

"She needs a necromancer." That idea obviously thrilled Jaina to no end. Even I knew how much the Kirin Tor frowned upon those arts. Arthas had kept a stable of necromancers, but I feared those were long gone. "I'll see what I can do, Baudoin. She may just heal on her own. We need to take her to Dalaran anyway."

I didn't heal on my own, and I was smart enough to not ask where Jaina found the necromancer. Some things are just best left unasked, unanswered. "Thank you, my…friend." I said to her when the necromancer had left, moving away from Dalaran and the Kirin Tor quickly. Jaina only nodded acceptance as I hefted Renata to my hip and gazed southwards.

"Where do you go now?" She asked, and shrugged. I did not feel Arthas, or hear him, but that did not mean a damn thing. He hid from me easily enough.

"Stormwind, again. I have children to raise." I stated, smoothing the little girl's silver hair. What was mine was mine, and nothing would take it from me. I doubted if there were any to try, she was just one more war orphan amongst so many. "I came here because Arthas bid me to. If he wants me to return again, he can call."

"But you don't feel him?"

"No. I do not."

There were flowers on the trees. Meager in comparison to the riot of white I had grown up with, but still, flowers. I touched one, a smile crossing my face. The orchards, blighted for two decades, bloomed again. They had brought forth leaves for the past five years, and now…flowers.

"What is it, Clair?"

"Flowers." I marveled. "They…flower, Baudoin."

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, resting his chin in the curve of my neck and shoulder. "So they do, my love." He breathed, and I turned into his embrace. The decade since he'd found me, broken and fallen just outside of Arthas's Throne Room, had been good to him. His hair had silvered more, but it leant him a distinguished, calm air. He was thicker than he had been as a paladin, I guess I fed him a little too well, but he breathed contentment. It had been no great leap for him, a farmer's son and paladin, to become manor lord when these lands were opened again for settlement.

"The children." He murmured, and I followed his stare.

Leading the way was Bayard, and only a parent would label him child. The young man who rode his leggy hunter like a paladin sat a charger was hardly my baby anymore. He wore the violet of the Kirin Tor, and raised a hand in greeting when he saw us. He had grown to look less like Baudoin, smaller, thinner, his hair bronze instead of black. I saw myself in that one. Beside him, riding like a hellion, Renata, her silver hair matched to the mane of her expensive dapple gray pony. Fate had snatched away my chance to raise my sons, but we had raised this one as our own. She was my gift, as Uther had stated, and my responsibility. A responsibility gladly shouldered, a gift gratefully accepted. She was beautiful, the child we had been granted to love as we had not been allowed to love our own.

"Mama." She warbled, "Papa! You should see it! It is glorious!"

"We will see it soon enough. Do you see this?" I pushed the branch in her direction, but a couple of paltry flowers did not ring the same in her heart as the glory of a rebuilt Lordaeron Keep, readying for a coronation, did.

"Anelas showed me my gown! It's blue, and gold."

Bayard dismounted, his eyes locked on the branch I held, ignoring his sister. He'd probably heard this all of the way back from Lordaeron, and then some. "They bloom." He glanced down the row. "They all bloom."

"They do." I confirmed, and he nodded slowly. He was old enough to remember when they did not. Renata had been three when the blight loosened its grasp and we'd moved from Stormwind back to reclaim my lands, Bayard had been twelve.

"Anelas sends his regards."

I nodded. That one was busy, I understood that. By now, Anduin Wrynn would have arrived in Lordaeron for the upcoming coronation. In five days, Stormwind's king would rest the new Lordaeron crown on my son's head. I viewed the idea with trepidation… Uther was correct, royalty came to bad ends. But I couldn't protect Anelas from his past forever, much as I'd like to try.

"Renata. Put your pony away, and come up to the house for dinner."

She frowned prettily, but turned him away and rode towards the barn. Her brother sent one last awed look down the orchard rows before nodding and planting a kiss on my forehead. "Congratulations, Mama." He bid, leading his hunter away after his sister.

I walked back in companionable silence with Baudoin, his arm still over my shoulder. The land called to him, and for me, it was simply home again. It had been hard at first, to live in the house with so many memories, but I could not rest with the idea of it falling into another's possession. I had been born here. Bayard had. And yes, I had finally gotten to see one of my children ride a pony between the trees crowned with flowers.

We entered the house through the front door, and I raised my eyes to the painting over the hall mantle. Baudoin followed my eyes, a slight smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "He'd be proud, Clair."

I nodded, gazing into Uther's eyes. The painting showed Uther, an infant Anelas on one knee, a golden haired Arthas sitting at the table beside him. I stood behind Uther, my fingers clasped around the top rail of his chair. I looked impossibly young, impossibly naïve, foolishly proud, but beautiful nonetheless. Arthas was not painted as looking out of the canvas, but down at the book resting open before him on the table. This had been the item I'd secured from Stratholme, Arthas's last gift to Uther, a painting of our family… a family which still stood, in spite of everything.

4/9/2008


End file.
